


The Two Devils of Small Heath

by Aeriedinterests



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Female Harry Potter, If Harry doesn't murder him first, Master of Death Harry Potter, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Slow Burn, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2019-12-26 03:16:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18274679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeriedinterests/pseuds/Aeriedinterests
Summary: Cast back in time, Harry isn't quite certain what to make of this period, nor the hell hole she's landed in. The one thing she is certain of is the fact that those bloody Shelbys are trouble, and for once she'd like to be left out of it. But the Devil doesn't play fair and neither does she. And if they want trouble, she'll give them literal hell.





	1. Sneak peak: Clever as the Devil

Sneak Peak

The tension in the room was tangible as the raven-haired woman glared harshly at the man whose grimy fingers gripped her pale wrist tightly. She could feel the heat of each foul breath he took on her face.

  
“Let me go,” She said in a voice that was deceptively calm even as his other hand dragged arrogantly across the flesh of her thigh.

  
“Shelby promised me an hour with his whore and I will get my hour,” Kimber said, his grip on her wrist now dangerously close to snapping it.

  
Unbothered by his statement, she wondered how this lad thought he could even last an hour. He could barely restrain her now, the meekness of his wife had turned this man to a delusion she was more than willing to correct. This scum was the worst muggle she had met so far, surpassing even the Shelby man. His lustful nature had made him blind to the magic drenching the room, his focus only on his dirty hands that groped sloppily at her body. And perhaps it was his inexcusable heaving breaths or possibly the disgusting words that fell from his lips, but whatever it was, caused her to finally snap.

  
And she could barely contain the euphoric gasp as her magic exploded and the man crumpled under an unseen force.

  
“I must clarify that I am not a whore, and also, perhaps, more importantly, I do not associate with Shelby scum.” She drawled, rubbing her wrist carefully, fairly certain that the harsh red would soon fade to an ugly purple bruise.

She seemed to be getting bruised far too frequently these past few days, she decided that she quite preferred her time in solitude to this.

  
It was only the pained groan that slipped past the lips of a Billy Kimber whose body was tangled in a particularly painful manner which snapped her attention back to him. The horror in his wide eyes should have disgusted her, made her remorseful even, but it didn’t. This man deserved death, even worse than death. He was foul, a disgusting pig. And he deserved to die. But she couldn’t kill him, no that was still something she would not stoop low enough to do.  
Stalking forwards, away from the billiards table, she reached out and gripped the man’s face. Her magic whipped angrily around the room as she dug her nails into his skin and said, “You, Billy Kimber, need to learn some respect.”

  
Each word punctured the heavy magic in the room, lessening the strain on the man. Instead of rising, however, he slipped to the floor. He eyed her with fear, and then with some twisted sort of reverence. Yanking her hand away from him in disgust, she wondered what hell she was living in.

  
Whipping her arm into the air, she watched as Kimber was flung into the air, colliding with the ceiling so forcefully that it cracked under him. And then the magic vanished and he was falling, the guttural scream he let out did well to mask the sound of the door opening.

  
Before he could hit the ground however, his body froze and over the sound of his screams he heard her voice, “Consider this a warning.”

  
And then he fell, the slamming of his head against the floor made her wonder if he would even remember this encounter. Otherwise, it would have been quite useless for her to incorporate such theatrics. Shrugging to herself, she kneeled next to the unconscious man and gripped his hair. Angling his head up, she said, “I hope it was as good for you as it was for me.”

  
And with that she let his head fall once more as she rose to smooth down the fabric of her garment. It was only then that she realized they were no longer alone. A glance at the door revealed a woman hunched by the wall, looking as though she wished she would fall right through it as her eyes met those of the Witch. But it wasn’t the woman who was the issue, or at least not the biggest issue. Instead, it was the blasted Shelby who was leaning against the closed door with a fire in his eyes. He met her gaze with a boldness that his companion lacked, and his tongue trailed over his lower lip before he said, “I can’t speak for Kimber, but it was certainly very good for me as well.”

  
The scowl that darkened her face every time she encountered the man returned. And without a second thought, she could feel the familiar sensation of her wand slipping down her wrist and into her grasp.

  
“Obliviate.” She hissed, watching with thinly veiled amusement as the Shelby dodged her spell, ever a true soldier. Her spell, however, wasn’t directed at him but instead his dark-haired companion. Kimber’s wife, She assumed, stood still like a meek lamb as the spell made contact. The shock of the moment, however, forced her to throw her head backward. Her head collided with the wall, and much like her husband, she collapsed.

  
And with that, Harry twirled her wand gracefully in between her fingers as she asked, “Tell me, Mr.Shelby, is that your gun or are you just happy to see me?”

  
“Both at once, Sweetheart.” He said, gripping the revolver with the confidence of a killer. Harry wondered how many times he’d had to kill to gain such confidence. He seemed so unbothered, as though he frequently found himself in such precarious situations.

  
“Let’s not have a measuring contest, I assure you mine’s bigger.” Harry hummed, angling her head to the side and adding, “Put down your gun. We both know you won-“

  
Her statement, however, was silenced by the sound of the shot being fired. The speed of the bullet had little on a spell, but it was the shock that dulled her reaction time. Blue eyes watched intently as her own widened in surprise before she apparated away, feeling the hot metal graze her forehead a moment before she vanished.

  
The bullet collided with the window, shattering the glass. The noise of the action was loud enough to blanket the popping sound that indicated that she had apparated somewhere else in the room.

  
From the shadows, she watched as the man slid towards the window with uncertainty. Her anger at being shot at was dulled only by her amusement as she noted the iron grip he had on his revolver, ready to shoot at the drop of a pin. She considered obliviating him as he stared out the window but opted to enjoy the thought of him believing himself to be mad. He certainly deserved it for their last encounter.

  
Slinking into the shadows, Harry apparated outside of the house, running her free hand through her dishevelled hair. Her eyes settled on a familiar car and she couldn’t help the sinister smile that pulled at her lips. Whenever the devilish Mr.Shelby did leave the premises, he would find himself stranded. After all, it wasn’t stealing. It was payment for the oaf who had previously been groping her.

  
She supposed all the talk was correct, there were two Devils in Small Heath. Two of them, and they were going to rip each other apart.

 


	2. Chapter 1: A Devil Walks Into a Church

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't expect much of a response. I appreciate all the comments/kudos/bookmarks!  
> This is the first chapter, let me know what you think so far!

Death had a bad reputation, this was something she had learned quite quickly. Her arrival was met typically with grief, and the occasional attempts to bargain for more time. One would think that eventually, you would become desensitized to the emotions, but she never could quite let go of the little humanity she clung to like a child to a blanket.

Children were the hardest, and they were the ones she had more than once turned a blind eye to. They were the ones she had broken rules for. They were the ones she had let live. And they were the ones that she had gladly taken the punishment for. No soul could argue that Death did not like to be cheated, not even by their Master.

And perhaps it was that very reason that she woke to the familiar scorching pain that typically accompanied Death’s anger. The agonizing scream that forced its way from her lips seemed to startle the man who had previously been inspecting her body. The scream was unearthly, and she was could feel the magic burning through her veins, forcing her body to arch off the ground.

She could not recognize her surroundings, and even as the pain dulled, she could not understand. As her eyes slowly regained focus, she could see that something was terribly wrong. This place was dull and filthy, a foul smell seemed to blanket the area, and it only took a moment for her to realize what the smell was; death. Glancing down at her aching body, she realized there was another complication. She was entirely nude. Sighing in exasperation, she dragged her bloodstained fingers through her knotted hair as she realized that she was the source of that ghastly smell.

“Y-you was fucking dead.”

Turning her attention to the sound of the fearful voice, she regarded the man with a curious gaze. The man wore an old suit, something from a period movie on the telly. In fact, a glance around at the crowd that had amassed made it visible that everyone was dressed in such a manner. And something in the pit of her stomach told her that it wasn’t the lot of them who were going crazy.

Only just registering his statement, she glanced down at her body once more. Save from the blood caked on her hands, she seemed perfectly fine. The crippling pain was just a complication. Meeting the man’s gaze once more, she said, “Ah yes, the dead are rising. Gather the townspeople and light your torches.”

The people around her did not laugh, however, but instead whisper amongst themselves as they regarded her most fearfully. It was a fair reaction, she decided. Rising to her feet, she paid no attention to the people who stepped away from her. The sea of people parted for her in a manner that left her amused as she limped towards the cart of newspapers at the corner of the street. Grabbing one of the newspapers, her eyes scanned over the dull print. Her eyes strained to comprehend the writing, and she realized she didn’t have her bloody glasses. Raising the newsprint closer to her face, she squinted, only to be distracted by a deep voice demanding, “You gotta pay for that!”

Turning her head towards the sound of the voice, she threw the group a withering glare. The magic which had previously been buzzing through her lashed out threateningly and the wind around her seemed to whip around her form angrily. The small display was enough to silence the group as she turned her attention back to the paper to scan the date. And with a most unimpressed sigh, she let the newspaper fall.

There were very few facts of which she was certain and the most important one was that she had time travelled. There was also the fact that she was in Birmingham, and there was a war coming. And something told her to go to Small Heath.

 

-x-

 

You could ask any man in Small Heath about the woman with those eyes and he would be able to tell you with the utmost confidence that she existed only in the confines of the church. She sat in the second row to the right and she always had that frown plastered on her lips. And she sat there like something that did not belong, something alien that made no effort to blend in. And she did not speak. And she did not move. And some whispered she didn’t even breathe. But one thing was certain, she did not exist outside those walls.

Rumours were quick to circulate between churchgoers that the woman was a spirit. Or perhaps an ill omen, her arrival correlating with the beginning of the war. The few who were brave enough to approach the woman found themselves ignored. The woman’s eyes never did stray far from the book in her lap and good riddance. For when they did, they were cold and angry and did well to discourage any further attempts at conversation. And It was these very rumours which had led to the youngest Shelby brother to the woman.

“They say you’re a Devil.” Finn said with feigned confidence as he starred towards the front of the church, not meeting the women’s eyes as he ventured, “But Aunt Polly says that the Devil don’t go to church.”

When she made no move to answer, he glanced at her from the corner of his eye, all the while wringing his hands anxiously. He had to remind himself why he was doing this, he had to try for them! And it was with all the courage in his body that he whispered “I don’t care what you are! But if you are something other, watch out for my brothers. The three of them are off at war and Aunt Polly’s been praying to the Lord but I don’t think he listens to us in Small Heath.”

At the end of his request, Finn was startled to find the woman’s eyes watching him carefully and at that moment he understood what all the rumours were about. She had anger in her eyes, and hate too! But it wasn’t that she was angry at him, instead Finn reckoned that she was just angry at the world. Lots of people were nowadays, himself included. She was looking directly at him but it was though she was looking through him.

Recognizing it perhaps as his only opportunity he ducked his head and sifted through his pocket until he felt the weathered paper in his grasp. Holding the worn photo towards the woman, he said, “That’s them. That’s Arthur there and Tommy  and John!”

When she made no effort to grasp it, Finn reluctantly set it down beside her and mumbled, “I’ll just leave it here then. Keep it safe, would you? It’s my only one.”

 

-x-

 

It wasn’t until many weeks later that the Shelby boy ventured back to the church, this time accompanied by his aunt. The woman walked in with her head held high and Finn had on many occasions tried to mimic the same confidence but found that he looked entirely too ridiculous. This morning he hadn’t intended on approaching the woman, he was only there because Polly had all but forced him to come with her. But that didn’t stop him from peaking at the woman as he followed his aunt towards the altar. Panic flashed in his eyes when he realized that the photograph was no longer sitting beside her.

He didn’t know what he had expected. Did he think she would have taken it? Or even cared how valuable it was to him? To her, he was an absolute stranger, a peculiar little boy who didn’t know how to cope with the absence of his brothers.

As though sensing his panic, the woman sighed and readjusted the book in her lap, revealing the corner of a photo which peaked out from between some pages. She didn’t say anything, she didn’t even look at him, but Finn knew that she wasn’t as oblivious as she looked. And for some reason that didn’t unsettle him, because it made sense for the Devil to keep his ears open.

Catching his line of sight, Polly was quick to grasp his arm and yank him towards herself. Leaning down, she said, “Don’t stare at the woman.”

“They say she ain’t human,” Finn explained,

“Of course she’s human, you see her there. She doesn’t have two heads or horns.” She chided, “She might not be right in the head but she’s human all the same.”

That didn’t sound right to Finn. She didn’t act like any crazy person he’d ever seen and there were many in Small Heath. She had this aura to her that he didn’t understand. How could Aunt Polly not see that the woman there was a right Devil if he ever saw one? He supposed she hadn’t ever met her eyes before, because they could only belong to the Devil.

 

-x-

 

They say things happened in threes, and this certainly was true for their third encounter. Finn had been sitting next to the woman shuffling his feet awkwardly as he waited for her to acknowledge him. When she did not, he decided to speak. Eyes glued to the altar because he was certain she didn’t like eye contact, he said, “I can’t read. They try to teach us but I think it’s useless. Who needs to read when you can talk?”

He wasn’t expecting a response and so when the dry and unused voice hit his ear, he jumped slightly in his seat.

“How do you intend to read your brothers letters?”

“Don’t got any to read.” He replied darkly, feeling the tears burning at his eyes. He was a Shelby he didn’t cry and absolutely not in public! What would his brothers think of him reacting like a kid?  Arthur had told him before he left that he was the man of the house, and he had to be strong for that.

With an exasperated sigh, the woman angled her head towards him and hummed, “They’re alive, that’s all that matters.”

“How do you know?” Finn asked,

“I simply do.” She said.

He didn’t know how to respond to that. He reckoned it was as good as he was gonna get from her and he shrugged his shoulders and said, “John’s kids are gonna learn. Polly says If Katie’s bright she won’t follow my example. Reckon she means John’s other kids are as stupid as I am. Not surprising with John as their father.”

He turned to her then, gauging at her reaction. Every time he said anything like that around Polly or Arthur, he’d be reprimanded. But the woman didn’t even blink, instead, her eyes trailed over the block of text in her book lazily. He wondered what was so fascinating on those dull looking pages.

“You got a name, Miss? If you don’t tell me, I’ll just keep guessing. I know loads of names. I’m ten now, so you can imagine I’ve met loads of people. John says I can be annoying but Tommy says there ain’t anything wrong with knowing what you want.”

He thought she’d just ignore him like usual but instead she looked at him with a curious look. When she wasn’t scowling, Finn decided she looked quite striking. He wasn’t certain if that was good or bad but she definitely looked memorable.

“My name is Harry. And you would do well to run off now and spend time with your friends.”

“What if I want to be friends with you?” He asked.

With a mischievous glint to her eyes, she hummed, “You want to be my friend? Do you see that woman over there?”

Glancing behind him towards the direction she had nodded towards, Finn saw an older woman muffling her sobbing into the letter clutched in her hands. He noticed that the other occupants of the church seemed to pay her no mind and Finn wondered how he hadn’t noticed her himself. Nodding slowly towards Harry, he listened as she said, “Go offer your condolences. Her son has passed.”

Leaning away from her, Finn protested, “I don’t know her. I don’t know her son either. Why should I say something if I don’t mean it?”

“Because it’s kind.” She said simply, as though that alone was reason enough.

“I’m a Shelby,” Finn declared proudly, “I don’t need to be kind.”

He didn’t know why he expected a certain response from her, she hadn’t yet responded as he expected. This was no different. However, he wasn’t at all prepared for the heat behind her words as she hissed with a note of finality, “I don’t make a habit of making friends with rude people.”

And no matter how many times he attempted to initiate conversation or attempt to explain himself, Harry’s eyes never once strayed from her book. And perhaps it was simply his Shelby pride, but he did not cave. He did not glance at the sobbing mess of a woman as he left the church, and he did not apologize to Harry. He was a Shelby after all, or at least that’s what he told himself when he got home to find the picture of his brothers sitting on his bed.

He didn’t care, he had told himself. He didn’t care at all.

It was nine days later that they received their first letter. It was only upon opening it that Finn remembered that he could not read. Just as he couldn’t read the words on the pages of Harry’s book, he could not read the letter his brother had sent. And it was with a frown that he shoved the letter into Ada's waiting hand, insisting that she read it to him.

It was from Arthur and they were alive. And even though Ada’s voice was clear, Finn despised the fact that he couldn’t read it himself.

Harry might have been right but he hardly thought she was being fair! She was as foul to others as he was. She wouldn’t even acknowledge them!

“What has you so distracted?” Ada asked when she realized he wasn’t even paying attention to her. Her eyes scanning over him for any injuries.

“Am I rude?” Finn demanded,

Setting the letter down, she tilted her head and asked, “Right now or in general?”

Her teasing tone did little to dull his frustration and at that moment he decided that Ada and Harry would get along very well.

“Ada!” Finn groaned and was rewarded by his sister’s smirk.

“You can be rude,” Ada shrugged, “But who has you so worried about that?”

“Do you think...John said father was rude.” Finn said, his eyes straying away from Ada’s as he spoke.

Finn didn’t remember his father. But his family’s memories of him were rarely fond. And without truly knowing him, Finn hated him. Hated him for leaving. Hated him for not wanting them. Hated him for being rude.

“Finn, you listen to me. Right now.” Ada said,

And then she was kneeling next to him, her hands digging into his shoulders roughly as she gave him a shake. Her eyes were stormy as she said, “You are nothing like Father. You are better than him, better than all of us, really. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” He lied.

 

-x-

 

The end of the war seemed to bring more trouble than good. The men that did return were not as they had been before. And Harry knew quite intimately the broken look they wore. And it seemed that even though the war had been fought, there was more violence and fear now than ever before.

And the Shelby boy had stopped coming as well.

It was a good thing, she decided. She did not have to entertain or console the young boy. Instead, she could focus on what was important. She could return to trying to figure out why she was here. Nothing explained the reason she was stuck in this time period. Death was not answering her, and she was growing impatient. Death’s anger had never yet been unwarranted, she’d obviously done something. But she could not recall any soul she had recently meddled with, nothing explained her situation.

“You look troubled,” The words were slurred, and she could smell the alcohol from where she sat. And that could only mean trouble. This hadn’t been the first drunk soldier to stumble into the church, and Harry realized that the church was no longer a quiet place. She would have to find a more permanent residence because her stay was indefinite.   

Her fingers gripped the book in her lap harshly as she tried to contain the magic itching to lash out. She had kept it caged away for too long, and much like her body, it begged to be exercised.

“Leave.” She hissed,

“Fuck off, I could be here to pray for all you know.” The man grumbled, falling into the seat next to her.

Glancing over at the man, Harry felt her mood worsen. She recognized this as one of the men from the photo the Shelby boy had offered her. John if she recalled correctly. And this man was absolutely sloshed.

“You’re drunk.” She said, eyeing the bottle on rum clutched in his hand so tightly that the glass bottle looked near ready to shatter. She wondered if there was any point in trying to wrestle it away from his grasp.

“‘M not. I’m so fucking tired.” He whispered so quietly that she wondered if the words were even meant for her.

Sighing, she reached out and gripped the man’s chin, forcing his face towards her. There was a fear in his eyes, even when drunk. And his eyes darted around at the slightest of noise. As far as she was concerned, he had yet to return from the war.

“If you are tired, go home.” She said,

Slapping her hand away he shook his head and groaned as he covered his face. He said, “It’s too loud. The kids are too loud. Everything’s too loud. I just want some fucking quiet. Why is it never quiet?”

His words had grown more slurred and from the way he clutched at the seat, Harry didn’t suppose he was going to be walking home. His blond hair fell in his face as he glared down at his feet while grumbling about it being too loud and too bright.

Suddenly his head snapped up and he glared at his surroundings before pale eyes settled on hers once more and he demanded, “Who the fuck are you?”

She had half the mind to smack him across the head with her book. Perhaps it would knock some sense into him, and if not that, then maybe it would knock him out and she could sit in silence once more.

“Sleep, Mr.Shelby.” She ordered, letting her magic blanket the air in the church as she added, “Tonight it will be quiet, I promise.”

He gave her the most unimpressed glare but did not argue. After all, the thick magic in the air was already working to dull his throbbing headache. And when his head hit the seat, he was already asleep. And true to her word, Harry kept a close eye on her companion, making sure that his slumber was a peaceful one.

As the first light of the morning shone through the windows, Harry rose to her feet quietly. Tucking the book under her arm, she made her way towards the door of the church, not once glancing back at the slumbering man. Eventually, the man would wake up, even with the questionable people in town, she doubted that someone would slit his throat while he slept. And she had not the time, nor the patience to babysit a Shelby. She wasn’t entirely certain what it was about that family, but there was too many of them since the war ended. And they were everywhere.

 

-x-

 

“Moving?” Harry asked, eying the boxes piled dangerously high outside the door of the shop. The couple who had been running around as they tried to collect everything with a speed that suggested this wasn’t a wanted relocation, turned their attention towards her. The woman stepped back, as though uncertain of Harry’s attention.

The man, however, was quick to shield the woman, and demand, “What’s it to ya?”

“Your shop. I’d like to buy it from you.” Harry said simply,

The man’s dark eyes brightened slightly, and his defensive stance dropped as he threw his head back and laughed. Rubbing his fist over his bloodshot eyes, he said, “This is Peaky Blinders territory, ain’t no one going around selling properties without their go ahead.”

Shrugging, Harry glanced down at one of the boxes beside her feet. The fabric that peaked out through poorly taped box reminded her of the Slytherin crest. Stroking the fabric thoughtfully, she said, “What do you care? You’ll be gone before they know.”

The couple regarded her incredulously, as though she were insane to even pose the question. However, it wasn’t the man who voiced his surprise, but instead, the woman who had originally been cowering behind her husband. Her pale blue eyes were wide, and the tiredness in her eyes made her look both young and old at the same time. Her voice was soft as she said, “You’re not from around her. The Peaky Blinders, they sew blades into their caps. You don’t go against them, not if you enjoy living.”

She wondered if it was appropriate for her to let them know that she rarely enjoyed life. Surely they would be able to understand, and perhaps even sympathize with her. As it stood now, life in Small Heath was far from enjoyable. Her hand slipped into the pocket of her coat and in as subtle a manner as one could shuffle through a pocket enchanted with an undetectable extension charm, her hand searched around aimlessly. When she finally felt the familiar cool metal, she pulled her hand out and held the fistful of galleons towards the couple, the gold glittering under the sun, “They’re pure gold. Let me deal with the Peaky Blinders.”

The couple shared an uncertain glance, and then before Harry could blink, the man had grabbed the gold from her outstretched hand and shoved it in his pocket. As she reached for the keys he held out towards her, he grasped her wrist. His lips parted before his eyes zeroed in on the scar on her wrist and he turned her wrist over to read the words cut into her flesh. Frowning, he glanced up at her and said, “Don’t say we didn’t warn you.”

“Never.” She responded politely.

The two made quick work to move the boxes and disappear before the hour was up, and Harry could only watch curiously as the skittish Muggles ran through the shop to collect everything of value. Once they’d collected everything, they wished her luck once more, and once the sun was high in the sky, they had gone.

And it turned out that they had left in the nick of time because it was only minutes after their departure that the front door of the shop was slammed open, and she was greeted by the very people that she had hoped to avoid.

As it turned out, spending her entire time in the church had -while granted her the peace she desired- had left her unaware of the fact that she had been dealing with these Peaky Blinders the whole time. She considered telling them that the name made them sound far more like peeping toms than dangerous men, but she decided that perhaps it was best not to anger them.

“How do you do?” She asked with feigned politeness,

She could see the uncertainty in John’s eyes as he attempted to remember where he had heard the voice before. She supposed in his abbreviated state last night, she would have more closely resembled a blur than a woman and decided that it suited her just fine that he did not recall their encounter.

“Where’s David?” John asked, eying the less than desirable state of the shop. His eyes darkening as he realized what the situation was.

Harry shrugged, “They’re no longer in possession of the shop. I am.”

“And who are you?”

This was the man Harry had admittedly been most eager to see. Arthur Shelby was a man who was dearly loved by his younger brother. And the man who stood before her, well he was just disappointing.

“It’s rude to ask for someone’s name without offering yours first.” She pointed out, running a hand through her hair.

“We’re the Peaky Blinders.” John said before Arthur could respond to the woman who was watching him with the most unimpressed of looks, “And we want to make you a business proposition. If you don’t want _your_ shop burned down, you pay us a fee and we’ll look after ya.”

She leaned against the counter, undeterred by the man’s declaration. He reminded her of someone, this level of narcissism was something she had previously only attributed to purebloods. Running her hands down the material of her trousers, which she noticed resulted in very strange looks for the men, she said, “To clarify, you would like for me to pay you for protection from yourselves.”

Her statement seemed to startle the men, she supposed she did not quite react how they had intended. Never been challenged by the people they...protected. But she needed no protection from men who had built themselves up through violence and greed. And certainly, she could not see them protecting themselves if she lashed out, let alone protecting her from other magical dangers. She entertained the thought of propositioning an auror upon her return home to do the job they offered, after all, she did seem to attract trouble.

“Small Heath ain’t a safe place. And a small thing like you, they’d have you against your wall in seconds.” Arthur Shelby pointed out, his eyes watching her carefully. His tone sounded sympathetic, but Harry could tell it was the farthest thing from genuine.

The mental image of a muggle holding her to the wall flitted through her mind and she couldn’t stop the amusement that surfaced at the thought. Small Heath was a shite hole, but she was certainly not worried about her well being in the slightest.

She did smile then, it had been so long since someone had underestimated her. There was something so ironic about it that she could only just contain a laugh as she strode towards them.

“You’ll find gentlemen, that I am capable of protecting myself from all the dangers of Small Heath, yourselves included.” She said,

And then she took a step back, grinning impishly towards the men before turning to walk back around the counter. Draping her arms over the counter and leaning over it, she said, “If that’s all?”

He finally spoke then, the man who had only been watching her, Thomas Shelby. His eyes held anger that made it clear that he did not like to be challenged. And then, he angled his head back and said, “Either you pay us, or we burn it down.”

Harry let out an offended gasp as she chided, “With a woman inside, how deplorable, soldiers.”

Her words lacked the fear they had been expecting and she wasn’t certain if they thought she did not believe them or if she were certifiably insane.

“You think we’re fucking lying?” John demanded, “We’re the fucking Peaky Blinders.”

Sighing, she turned her full attention to the man. She was aware that her direct gaze unsettled others. The remnants of such dark magic had left her eyes a most chilling shade of green. She herself could not bear to look at her reflection for longer than a second, lest she wished to be reminded of the war, the death and the smell of burning flesh. It did not take a Wizard to realize that there was something very wrong with those eyes. This man, however, didn’t immediately redirect his gaze, and instead, his body stiffened. Even sober, he did not shy away from her gaze, but instead, the soldier stiffened.

She saw it then, the look of recognition in his eyes. Even having been intoxicated, he couldn’t forget those eyes.

Taking pity on the man, she lowered her gaze to the gun he clutched in his hand and said, “Yes, you’ve said that in every statement you’ve uttered.”

“My apologies,” Thomas said, eying the uncertain look that his brother had adopted. His expression, however, was anything but apologetic. Instead, his expression was almost bored. She wondered what in the world could obtain a reaction from this man, and a real reaction, not one that was so filtered and intentional. And then he added, “We’ll give you some time. Maybe then you’ll be able to put a price on how much you value your safety.”

The threat in his words was plain as day. He might as well have told her he’d come back and slit her throat and call it day. His words rubbed her the wrong way, and perhaps it was just her reckless nature, or possibly her current situation with Death, but she couldn’t quite bite back her retort as she responded, “How childish to think any life has value. The world will continue to spin after every single one of us is dead, let’s not delude ourselves by thinking any of us is important.”

The statement was as loaded as his own, she might as well have told him that his life had no more value than her own, which was none at all. She didn’t realize that they were glaring at each other, didn’t even that her hand was already inching towards her wand.

“Tommy,” John said, glancing between her and his brother warily. She could understand his worry, they were coiled like serpents waiting to strike. His brothers it seemed were far brighter than him as Arthur too grasped his brother’s arm and insisted, “Tommy, let’s go.”

Shaken from his stupor, he tipped his cap towards her, before saying, “We’ll be back.”

“I’m trembling with excitement.” She grumbled, even as the men stalked out of the shop. Her eyes followed them through the window, and it was only after they’d left, that she relaxed.

There was just something about that family, something that she did not like.

 

  
  



	3. A Devil Walks into a Bar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments/kudos/bookmarks. I'm sorry I'm slow with posting, I am literally in the middle of my exams.

She never believed herself to have deserved the title of the Devil of Small Heath, it was one appointed to her by the superstitious churchgoers and was quick to fade when she stepped foot outside the church. In fact, after the war, the title was appointed to that Shelby brother, Thomas. It suited her just fine, she didn’t deserve it anyhow, it suited the Shelby far more than it could ever suit her. And perhaps it was that fact that made it all the more laughable when the title was once more associated with her. And while she cared not for the title, the idea of having stolen it from the man, well that just made it hilarious. 

It was the familiar scent of burning flesh that drowned her senses and blanketed the air around the room which forced her awake with a start. The cold air in the room was suffocating and in her heavy-eyed state, she did only what had become natural; she followed the scent. And she paid no mind to the harsh air of the night, nor the strange glances thrown her way by drunkards still loitering around the closed pubs. When one of the men grew brave enough under the influence of the alcohol he had been consuming to shout lewd words in her direction, he was quick to wither under her glare. She must have been quite the sight; her hair a dark nest of tangles, in her night clothes and bare feet as she walked on the uneven pavement. She looked in that moment, exactly what one would think a witch to look like, which was certifiably insane.

When her feet did stop moving, she found herself standing in an alleyway, the smell of fresh blood still saturating the air. As she glanced down at the battered body, she asked into the night, “Why do you stay?”

Rarely did she receive kind responses to that question, but it was the simplest way to incite a response from the dead. And so she did not blink as the wailing screams tore through the night, and even as the apparition of a man appeared in front of her with a fearsome scowl on his marred face. Dark eyes glared at her with a hatred she didn’t believe herself to have deserved.

And perhaps it was the fact that she was too tired or maybe it was the fact that she had done this far too many times, but she only squared her shoulders and demanded, “You cannot stay. And should Death be forced to remove your soul, they will be far less pleasant than myself.”

Her words were sharp and also entirely untrue. As it stood, it seemed that Death did not come to Small Heath, and whether it was due to her presence or another reason entirely, that was uncertain.

But regardless of that fact, her words held their sway as the man glanced once at his broken body before reaching for her outstretched hand. 

And with his soul, the smell of death departed too and once more the night was silent. Kneeling near the corpse, she wondered what exactly the man had done to warrant such a painful death. Her inspection, however, was short-lived and quite rudely interrupted.

“You there!”

Unable to contain her yawn, she rose languidly from her crouched position and walked towards the cop stomping towards her. No longer influenced by the calls of the dead, she was very aware of the uncomfortable sensation of her bare feet against the filthy ground and wanted nothing more than to return to the comfort of her bed. 

As the cop reached out a hand to grab her, she grasped his forearm and yanked him towards herself. Her other hand had already gripped her wand and as the end of her wand brushed his skin, she whispered, “Obliviate.”

Just as she freed her grip on him, she apparated away.

If anyone were to have peaked into that particular alleyway at that particular moment in time, they would have only seen the copper tumble to his knees, with no sign of the woman who had entered only moments prior. Well, that and the corpse, of course.

And if that someone were to ask around, it would not be particularly hard to identify the strange woman with green eyes who had been walking around as though possessed by the Devil.

 

-x-

 

The one thing that was common knowledge in Small Heath was that the Shelby’s ran it, and whoever had the ill fortune of having their company often found themselves in sudden bouts of trouble. And it was that very thing which left Harry anxiously awaiting their return, not that she would ever care to admit that such people were more than passing thoughts. And so, when the Shelby man did return, she was both anxious and also perhaps more intensely hopeful that this would be their last encounter.

“Have you had time to consider?” He asked, glancing around at the poor state of the shop with a blank expression on his face. While it looked cleaner than before, there was still a great deal of mess and an array of boxes laying around. And he hated a mess.

As he turned his attention back to her, he reached into the pocket of his coat and brought out a packet of smokes. Ignoring the way her face scrunched up, he brought the cigarette to his lips as his other hand fished around his pocket for the light.

“Could you not? Smoking kills.” She said stiffly, eying the smoke, as well as the man holding it, with a great amount of distaste.

“Lots of things kill,” He responded around his smoke, finally pulling his lighter out of his pocket. 

“Yes, well those kill the people around you, as well.” She insisted,

She supposed he was no stranger to killing people around him either. Her hatred towards the man only grew when he met her challenging gaze and lit his smoke while staring at her unblinkingly.

And it was childish, she would admit it if ever reflecting on the particular moment, but she couldn’t quite contain her magic. And she was almost able to keep the smirk off her face as her magic wafted in the air and extinguished his cigarette.

His curious gaze only flickered momentarily before he lit the damn thing again, this time purposely exhaling the mouthful of smoke in her direction.

“I am still not interested.” She responded, her fingers drumming against the counter as she added, “You’re welcome to try and burn the store down, but I fear you’ll need more than that smoke you’ve got there.”

His gaze remained impassive at her words, as silence hung in the air for a moment. Finally, he said, “Your stay here could be very unpleasant.”

“I can hardly imagine it being anything but.” Her biting response, she realized was only in part directed towards him. She had grown tired of this nonsense and she wanted to be home. She wanted the monotonous existence she had grown accustomed to.

“London?” His voice snapped her free from her thoughts, and for a moment she blinked owlishly at him, not quite registering that he had spoken.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Are you from London? You have the posh accent.” He said the word ‘posh’ as though it were something truly foul. 

“Thereabouts,” She responded with a wave of her wrist. And then, suddenly her eyes adopted a sharpness as she asked, “I don’t suppose you’ve had a glance at the papers on your way here?”

When he only angled his head slightly, she asked, “Anything about a body?”

He was good, or was it bad? His expression was unchanged, entirely unbothered as he said, “Not a thing.”

She found it difficult to understand why there would be no news of a body, considering it had been a cop who happened upon it and not one of those drunkards. She couldn’t quite understand the fact that justice seemed quite nonexistent in this bloody place.

“Have I made such a bad impression, that you’ll assume any body that turns up is my fault? I’ve mentioned before that Small Heath is hardly a safe place.”

He sounded absolutely charming, and if she didn’t hear the rumours circulating, she might think that this man was anything but a liar. But as it so happened, she wasn’t quite that stupid. She didn’t know if it was his words or his tone but it forced old memories to the surface. And suddenly the man standing before her was younger, and his eyes were no longer the striking blue, but instead a dark brown. And she hated him. She had pitied him once, but having had to collect the souls of his younger victims, her pity had long turned to rage. She hated Tom Riddle, and perhaps she too hated Thomas Shelby. And even though her words were meant more for the prior, she said them just the same, “The only impression you’ve made, is that you’re a broken man who likes breaking other people.”

He watched her closely, and it felt as though he saw through her. It seemed in that moment, that both of them were talking to ghosts from their pasts. She wondered at that moment, who he was talking to when he said: “Perhaps you’re simply too easy to break?”

“I never break.” She declared, her eyes bright in anger, following his movements like a wounded predator.

He only put his cigarette out on the counter, dangerously close to where her arm was placed, almost threateningly close as he said, “We’ll see.”

 

-x-

 

   It seemed that people in Small Heath had little to do but talk. At least, unlike the whispers of Hogwarts, the people in Small Heath seemed to know the most peculiar things. Like the fact that an inspector had found his way into Small Heath, and he seemed to have a particular distaste towards the Shelby family. And knowing this, she wondered why she hadn’t quite expected this particular turn of events.

Her eyes narrowed on the stumbling man and she let out a groan. Even in the dead of night, they could not be avoided. Not that Arthur Shelby looked capable of much as he stumbled down the street. He looked so pathetic in fact, that she couldn’t quite force down the pity she felt and before she could register her actions, she was already walking towards the man.

“I hear Small Heath ain’t a safe place, can I walk you home?” She asked with the sweetest of tones.

His eyes were quick to jump to hers like some manner of wounded beast, and he struggled to remember who she was. After all, their encounter must have been a blip on his radar. From what she heard, the Peaky Blinders stirred trouble quite frequently without paying it much thought. It was hard to imagine that she was the only one in town they had been threatening.

The smell of blood saturated the air and she wondered if Arthur Shelby would even be making it to tomorrow, but by the looks of it, his wound was not so perilous. 

“Or I can patch you up?” She offered,

His eyes hardened at her offer but before he could refuse her, his large body slumped and he collapsed. She was quick to grasp his arm, and with only a quick glance at their surroundings, she apparated.

Her landing was fine, his, however, was terrible as her grip on his arm couldn’t quite bear his weight. He crashed onto the wooden table, and Harry could only wince at the sound. It sounded painful. If he hadn’t passed out during the apparating, that fall had certainly done the job effectively. She supposed it made her job easier. 

Heaving his body onto the table, she inspected his injuries. Even though he was cloaked by the coppery smell of his blood, his injuries were not as terrible as they seemed. She wondered if she could just drop him back where she’d found him. But she supposed it wouldn’t be the smartest of ideas. There seemed to be eyes everywhere in Small Heath, and she would rather they not whisper about how she was seen disposing of a Shelby corpse in the dead of night. 

Sighing, she glanced down at the pocket of his torn coat. She considered for a moment whether it was a good idea to be looking through a gangster’s pockets, but decided that an unconscious gangster wasn’t quite as threatening as one who was awake. Pulling out the cap, she inspected it carefully. It seemed that the rumours were correct, the cool metal of the razor sparkles prettily when the light hit it. She couldn’t stop the amused smile from surfacing when she thought of someone running into a fight with a cap as their weapon, but the smile was quick to wither away when she realized that these men had probably hurt quite a few people.

Digging her finger into the material just above the razor, she pulled the razor free from the cap. Now, if Arthur Shelby were to try to use his cap as a weapon, he’d simply look like a fool hitting someone with a cap. Fitting, she decided. Tossing the cap onto his body, she threw the razor into the box laying in a corner before whipping out her wand. With a few quick spells, the man was as clean as she was going to get him. His clothes were still bloodied, but his wounds were no longer present. 

Gripping his arm carefully, she dragged his body towards the door. She certainly wasn’t going to let a Shelby stay the night. They were angry little buggers. 

“Out you go.” She said, and let his body fall once more. He looked quite pathetic at that moment, and she wondered how this man was Finn’s favorite. The boy had himself claimed to be the farthest thing from bright but she still couldn’t quite understand it. 

“Rennervate,” She said, before quickly sliding her wand back into the holster strapped to her forearm and preparing for the angry awakening.

As the Shelby rose with a groan, Harry wondered if he knew that he looked quite like the living dead. The man ran his hands through his messy hair before he realized where he was. Quickly pulling himself up, he gripped his cap close to himself as his eyes snapped around awaiting an enemy. 

When his eyes met her unimpressed form leaning against the door of her shop, he demanded, “What the fuck happened?”

“How am I to know? It didn’t happen to me.” She responded and watched happily as the man tried to remember what had transpired. None could say that Arthur Shelby was the brightest of his brothers, that much was certain.

As he staggered away from her, he rose his hand and pointed threateningly towards her, “If I find you had anything to do with it, I’ll getcha.”

“The only thing I’ve done Mr.Shelby is try to get you off my property.” She said slowly, 

He glared at her as he staggered away, and as he did so, his hands ran across his body. His confusion and shock at his lack of wounds did little to dull Harry’s curiosity. Who in Small Heath would be daft enough to attack of the Blinders?

It seemed that even the police and their inspector were not quite as good as one would expect them to be. And she supposed she understood why the people seemed to throw around the title of Devil so easily. It was because Small Heath was hell, and some fool needed to run it.

 

-x-

 

Her first encounter with the Inspector was about as pleasant as her encounter with the Peaky Blinders. Only, this encounter started with her bloody door being knocked off its hinges. The men in black seemed to swarm in and when one of them reach out the grasp her, she was to politely stop him. Well, not exactly politely, considering she’d struck him with a fair amount of force if the way he tumbled over was any indicator.

Realizing that she was dealing with Muggles when one raised his baton, she kept her wand hidden away. Allowing the other officer to restrain her, she scowled as she was escorted outside.

Her aggressor was quick to shove her onto the pavement before returning inside. It seemed that she was not the only one being treated so roughly. It seemed all her neighbors were been treated in similar manners as they were thrown out of their houses, some of them were being struck down quite painfully. It was the sight of children attempting to flee which brought her blood to a boil. In her rage, she could only make out a few words, and they were “bullets”, “guns” and “communists”.

“Let them go,” Harry demanded, glaring at the man who was aggressively handling a woman attempting to shield her daughter from the man’s anger. She couldn’t comprehend the disrespect, and she was appalled by the way he laughed at her attempts at interference. But before she could lash out at the man, her path towards him was blocked by the man who she assumed to be in charge. He was older, with greying hair under his stupid little hat, and arrogance in his eyes.

He reached out and gripped her chin in between his calloused fingers, angling her head up to look at him. And perhaps it was simply his arrogance, but she could feel her magic bleed into her iris, further illuminating her eyes.

“They say a woman was seen talking to Arthur Shelby last night. Not sure what respectable woman would be out at such hours.” He said, digging his fingers into her jaw as he forced her head up to inspect her eyes. Clicking his tongue he asked, “I don’t suppose that was you?”

“Are you calling me a whore?” She demanded,

Ignoring her question, he leaned in close to ask, “What do you know about the guns?”

“You use them to shoot things.” Her biting response was accompanied by her shooting up to grip the one he had on her face. Nails digging into the flesh, she used all the force she could muster to yank it away from her face. She could tell the moment she tore through the skin, and with was with all the restraint she could manage that she dropped his hand, opting instead to rub her throbbing jaw.

He was a Muggle man. A muggle. A muggle. A muggle. She had to remind herself. Regardless of his behavior, she could not retaliate with magic. And most certainly not in a crowded, and public space. And through gritted teeth, she hissed, “I have no guns.”

She wasn’t prepared for it, not in the least. Her head snapped to the side and her cheek burned. She couldn’t quite believe he’d struck her. Since she’d been in this place, she’d been battered and bruised, and now struck. She was quickly tiring of Small Heath. And she was quickly tiring of this man as well.

And then suddenly she wasn’t on the street. She was in a cupboard under the stairs. And the screaming around her had melded into the high pitched screeching of her Aunt. Memories that been buried away were surfacing. The only thing that snapped her back to reality was the inspector’s movements.

He was walking to the church.

In her time here, there was only one place in this hell that she could say she enjoyed. One place that was calm and quiet, and she’d be damned if she let anyone change that.

With only a glance at the mess around her, she followed him towards the church. 

It seemed however that he wasn’t alone. A woman cloaked in black was there, lighting candles. For the fallen, she had said. She seemed undeterred by the man stomping around like he owned the bloody place. She knew her, or at least of her. This was the woman who accompanied Finn on more than one occasion. A Shelby, she supposed.

She had to bite back a laugh when she saw the woman kiss him. Her words dripped with a feigned apology as she said, “Sorry, misunderstood your intentions when you pushed me against the wall.”

She hid in the shadows as the cops flooded in, glaring as they tore the place apart. The woman seemed to share her anger if the scowl on her face was any indication of her emotion. Once they had wrecked the place and departed, she slid away from the shadows. She didn’t like the Shelbys, that would not change. But she could respect a strong woman.

That didn’t mean, however, that she was willing to speak to yet another Shelby. And so, she simply stood in the shadows and let her magic right everything they’d misplaced and destroyed. And perhaps she would even admit that she enjoyed the look of shock and amazement that flashed in the woman’s eyes as the magic worked around her.

Harry knew that she shouldn’t have done such a feat in front of the Muggle woman, but perhaps it was the fact that she could hardly tell anyone without people thinking her insane which let her magic move so freely. And it also served as a reminder that magic did not need to be the foul magic she’d only previously been considering to use on the inspector and his friends. She couldn’t deny that the time in Small Heath was affecting her, but she wasn’t quite prepared to throw away her ideals. That said, if something bad were to befall the Inspector, well she’d hardly be upset.

 

-x-

 

The barmaid was pretty. He’d go so far as to say that she was beautiful with that blonde hair and wide eyes. But she was a liar too, he was certain of that. There was a harshness to her gaze that she couldn't hide well enough. And he could feel her eyes following his every movement. 

Swallowing a mouthful of the whiskey, he raised his gaze to meet hers. And she was too slow in lowering hers. This wasn’t a woman who backed down, the stiffness in her body made that apparent. And yet she lowered her gaze from his.

It was his brother’s laughter which snapped him away from his analyzing. John’s eyes were crinkled as he laughed boisterously at whatever Arthur had said. For his part, Arthur was fuming, his face an angry red as he fell into the seat next to Tommy.

“That bitch,” Arthur hissed, and at this proximity, Tommy could see the embarrassed flush on his cheeks.

“Do I want to ask?” He dared,

John was quick to throw his arm over Tommy’s shoulder and recount the events, much to Arthur anger. And when he’d finished he added, “The strange one, the one with the green eyes. She took the razor from his cap. He just hit the fucker with his hat.”

And much to his disappointment, Tommy’s thoughts returned to the peculiar woman from the shop. Her curious mannerisms and unrelenting snark both aggravated and amused him. She reminded him of Polly, she had the same ability to irritate him.

“You talking about the one with the eyes?” Harry, the bartender asked hesitantly, “The one from a few nights back?”

“A few nights back?” John asked, his amusement quick to extinguish.

Harry nodded, “Some of the regulars say they saw her a few nights ago, real late. Walking round in her bare feet. Say they saw her go into the alleyway they found the body in. They say she vanished.”

A silence hung in the air for a moment before John scoffed, “Your regulars are always drunk off their minds, Harry. Bet they couldn’t tell a whore from a chair.”

“Anything else?” Tommy asked, ignoring the curious frowns thrown towards him by Arthur.

“No, Mr.Shelby.” He started, before pausing.

“Oh, one another thing, Mr.Shelby.” Harry said as though only finally remembering something of importance, placing his bottle down to lean over the counter, he added, “When she came here, she was nude.”

He couldn’t quite school his expression fast enough. And even when he did, he couldn’t understand what the man had just said. Certainly, he was too drunk to form a coherent sentence, that was the only explanation. Even the new barmaid who had been pretending that she wasn’t paying attention to their conversation was startled, enough to overfill one of the glasses and quickly spew apologies to the customer she’d been serving. Such a statement was rarely said so casually.

It was Arthur who demanded, “What?”

“The woman. She was nude. Walked into town like a bat out of hell, nude and smelling like death.” He said, before adding, “They called her the Devil for a while. Until you ca-”

Until you came home. That’s what he had started to say until he realized who he was speaking to. Not that Tommy was particularly bothered, he was too busy weighing what he just been told. He didn’t know if that was important. The woman herself was particularly strange, he wouldn't put it past her. Even if he didn’t know if it was of any importance, he could say that it was something. The only thing really, that he knew about the woman.

They had called her the Devil, he couldn't see it. He had seen her, multiple times. She was too reckless, her accent too posh. She wasn’t the fucking Devil. Hell, he’d go so far as to say she was just a little angel waiting to get her feathers plucked. 

But the air around her was always so suffocating and energy seemed to crackle in the air around her. And every time she spoke with that cockiness, he wanted to throttle her. Maybe she was the Devil. His personal Devil, come from the pits of hell to ruin his life.

   
  
  
  



	4. The Devil and Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok so this is very late. I promise the next chapter will be updated faster.  
> A lot more Shelbys in this chapter. Let me know what you think!

Wiping her hands on the fabric of her pants, she cracked her back. Glancing around the store, she decided that there was something ironic in her posing as a fortune teller. 

Pulling her hair away from her face, she wound the dark mane into a makeshift bun, securing it in place with her wand. She frowned at the bruises that had formed on her arm due to her first -and hopefully the last encounter with the Inspector. The pink bruises had now darkened to an appalling purple and had become tender to the touch. It didn’t help that she’d constantly been knocking into things as she cleaned.

She had been so consumed in inspecting her bruises that she didn’t hear the door of the shop opening, and when reflecting on the moment later she decided to set up a bell. Raising her gaze, she was greeted by the woman from the church. She was dressed in an all-black ensemble that Harry could admit suited her well. Her curled dark hair was covered by a black hat, and her hawk-like eyes were inspecting her with wariness.

“There isn’t much money in fortune telling in Small Heath,” She said after a long moment.

And something about the way the words were uttered rubbed Harry the wrong way. It was in a tone that suggested that money was the only thing of importance. And certainly Harry had grown rusty with human interaction over the many years, but she could recall never understanding the obsession with money. She never did like greed, but she could also admit it was due to the fact that she had never found herself lacking financially. 

Offering the woman a tight smile, she said, “It’s a good thing I’m not in it for the money.”

“Then what are you in it for?” She asked, walking around the table in the corner and taking a seat. She did walk around like she owned the place, there was a confidence in her that she could appreciate. Taking a seat across from her, Harry reflected on her previous distaste for divination during her school years. She had loathed the class with an unrivaled passion, however, the key reason had been the prophecy which had been made about herself.

“To kill time,” She responded honestly, reaching out to pour herself a cup of tea. Pouring another cup for the woman, she slid this cup over towards the woman who readily accepted it with only a tilt of her head.

“Do you have a lot of it to kill? She asked,

“As of late,” Harry replied,

As they sipped their tea in relative silence, Harry took any moment of eye contact as an opportunity to take a peek into her thoughts. Navigating her mind was difficult enough with the limited time before she averted her gaze, but it did not help that the dialect in her mind was not English, and so Harry relied heavily on the memories themselves.

She sifted through them with practiced ease after her initial shock. She had perfected the art of Legilimency during her time collecting and judging the souls of the dying and departed.

She couldn’t stop the small smile from tugging at her lips when she saw the woman’s recollection of the day at the church. Her amazement and delight at the magic was a stark contrast to her prickly exterior.

“Something funny?” She asked, finishing her tea,

“Nothing at all,” Harry said, glancing at her own untouched cup of tea, before reaching out to collect her near-empty cup. The tea leaves left at the bottom of the cup looked like a mess. Angling the cup towards the woman, she asked, “What do you see?”

Her eyes fell to the cup and she inspected it carefully before she said, “A bird. A falcon.”

Humming at her answer, Harry placed the cup down and said, “A deadly enemy. To be expected I suppose, with the guns and all.”

Unlike the men in her family, it seemed that the woman was not so easily provoked. Her face remained ever impassive as she poured herself another cup of tea. In a manner that was exaggeratingly relaxed, she poured milk into her cup and asked, “Are you a God fearing woman, Harry?”

It seemed that she wasn’t the only one who was privy to information she shouldn’t be in possession of. And Harry blinked slowly before deciding to cut her losses. 

“Not in the slightest.” Harry responded, “I could underst-”

“Do you want to fuck Thomas? Arthur perhaps? Can’t imagine it being John, he’s hardly friendly with new people.”

Harry didn’t consider herself easy to startle, in fact, she prided herself in the fact that it took quite a lot to phase her. But the question had been proposed so blatantly, that Harry couldn’t quite stop herself from spitting her tea out. She was quick to duck her head, so to avoid spraying the woman, and instead spit her tea back into her cup.

“I beg your pardon?” Harry said certain she must have heard wrong. 

But it seemed that her customer was not even slightly bothered by her state. And instead of politely changing the topic of discussion, she said once more, “Are you trying to fuck one of my nephews? They’ve mentioned you one too many times in my home, and I want to know what you’re after.”

“I would sooner claw out my ovaries,” Harry said, her tone unwavering as she met the woman’s eyes. She desperately wanted to let this woman know that she was being honest. She’d already been dubbed the Devil of Small Heath, she didn’t want rumors to spread that she wanted anything to do with the Peaky Blinders, certainly not shag one of them.

It seemed her distress was apparent on her face because the stoic woman before her smiled slightly before slipping her hand into her pocket and pulling on a few coins. Placing the coins on the table, she said, “You might not be charming, but at least you’re not stupid.”

-x-

Polly Gray prided herself in her ability to make adults whither under her wit and cunning. She had long ago turned from glass to steel and was well aware that she lived in a man’s world. But men were stupid and thought with their cocks, her nephews were no different. And she would not stand around and watch them fuck around and ruin everything.

Harry, for her part, seemed to have no interest in the men. And Finn had been correct, her resting face just made her look devilish. She couldn’t say that the woman was harmless, especially considering the fact that she knew about the guns. But, Polly had no intention of sharing the specifics of their conversation with Tommy, at least not with the way he had been acting recently.

In fact, she supposed that she should also go speak to the new barmaid, and see what that woman wanted. Grace was a pretty thing, and shouldn’t have been working in such a place. But she still did, despite multiple warnings. It didn’t help that Tommy had been spending more time at the Garrison, and whether he’d admit it or not, Polly was certain it was due to the pretty new barmaid. She was a picture of innocence with wide eyes and sweet smiles and wasn’t so guarded like Harry. She didn’t belong in Small Heath. And Polly would never let such a feeble woman be a part of her family, regardless of how much her nephew wanted to take her against a wall.

“Did she talk to ya?”

Glancing at Finn, who was currently hunched over a piece of paper with a pencil clutched tightly in his hand, she smiled slightly. Ever since his encounters with Harry, the boy had made it his goal to learn to read and write. Even though she knew that he was only doing this to spite Harry, Polly was relieved that one of the kids had some sort of ambition.

His eyes remained glued to the paper below him, but there was both an uncertainty and curiosity in his tone that made it clear that his attention was entirely on her.

“Yes,”

“Oh,” He said, and then after a moment he nodded, “Ok.”

-x-

The nightmares were worse, and his temper followed suit. All he wanted to do was get some fucking rest. He’d been so desperate that he’d gone back to the church, hoping he’d get some peace there, but it was no avail.

He considered going to the store and demanding the woman what she’d done to get him to sleep. The bags under his eyes seemed to be ever-present and every time his kids spoke, his headache got worse.

He could barely keep track of them when Martha had been alive, and that was before the war. He loved his kids, he loved them so damn much. But being around them, being around anyone made him feel like he was losing his damn mind. There was never any fucking peace.

“John, are you ok?” Lizzie asked, running her fingers through his hair.

Never any fucking peace.

“Fine,” he grumbled absentmindedly, rolling over to reach for the cigarette on the bedside table. Lighting the cigarette, he brought it to his lips and took a long drag before he allowed his body to drop back onto the mattress. Glancing at the woman who was staring at him intently, he rolled his eyes before offering her the cigarette.

Taking a drag, she smiled slightly, “How are the kids?”

“Fine,”

“How are you?” She tried again, and when he made no move to respond, she sighed, “Have you spoken to Tommy, yet?”

“I will,” He promised, before rising from the bed. Grabbing his shirt from the floor, he bid her goodbye and made his way out onto the street. Placing the cap on his hat, he made his way towards the Garrison. 

He was only stopped by the sound of a scream piercing through the night. Violence was not uncommon in Small Heath, and he’d assume it was a drunk idiot getting pummeled in the alley, were it not for the agonizing tone. For a moment the street flash before his eyes and he was in the middle of a war. And then the illusion was shattered by children running by.

It seemed that no one else had heard the scream, and he wondered for a second if he really was going insane. Before he could think too hard on it, he was already moving in the direction of the sound.

Now, John had had many nightmares since returning from the war, some that felt so real that he’d wake up in a cold sweat, barely able to silence the scream that begged to tear through his lips that would definitely wake his children up. Dreams so real that he’d swear he was reliving hell.

But none of them compared to the man standing in front of him. Dressed in an army uniform, the familiar brown eyes blinked lazily at him. His skin was pulled taut over his features, and he reached out towards him. However, John’s eyes weren’t following his hand, instead, they were fixated on the multiple bullet wounds littering his chest.

He didn’t realize he’d reached for his gun, didn’t even realize what he was doing as he took aim. He fired shot after shot until the sounds of bullets being fired were replaced by the clicking sounds that alerted him that his gun was empty. It didn’t deter him from desperately pulling the trigger again and again and again and again, willing the soldier to disappear. 

He was only brought back to earth when arms wrapped around his chest and pulled him back into a chest. A familiar voice whispering soothingly in his ear, reassuring him, “It’s okay, John. You’re home. We’re home.”

He didn’t realize his mouth had gone dry until he tried to speak and his voice came out broken, “Tommy. Tommy, the man.”

He waited for Tommy to reassure him that it was just his mind playing tricks on him. Waited for him to say that he was just seeing things and it would pass. But he did not, and when he glanced back at him, Tommy wasn’t looking at him. Instead, his eyes were fixated on the empty alleyway where the man had been standing. His eyes darting around, attempting to rationalize something.

And then he said something that made John’s blood run cold, “I saw him too.”

-x-

“A ghost?” Ada scoffed, eying her brothers with an amused smirk on her lips. Her anger at her brothers' reactions to her pregnancy was dulled only by this reminder that her brothers were stupid. A swift glance towards a pensive Polly was quick to wipe the smirk from her face as she shook her head and demanded, “Tell me you don’t believe them?”

Polly’s response was carefully thought out, and slow as she said, “Strange things have been happening in Small Heath. I’m not saying I believe ‘em. I’m just saying…”

Her words ended abruptly and Ada realized that even Polly didn’t know what to say. She didn’t understand what the hell was going on with her family. They’d never been the most normal family but she didn’t want to add ‘crazy’ to the list of words she used to describe them. At that moment she eyed the glass of whiskey in Tommy’s hand enviously.

“It’s Harry, I told you it’s Harry!” 

“Finn,” Polly admonished, grabbing the boy who’d flung the door open. Watching as he sprouted protests and struggled against her, Ada prayed that the kid inside her was nothing like her siblings. As a matter of fact, she hoped that the kid was nothing like its father either.

“I told you to stay out of the room! Don’t you listen, boy?”

And then, as though just registering what he’d said, Ada asked, “Harry? From the Garrison?”

Pushing the boy out, Polly closed the door with a loud slam that would ensure that Finn wouldn’t dare sneak in again. She took a deep breath before she shook her head and said, “He means the woman from the church. She does fortune telling. Black hair, green eyes, posh accent?”

The description meant nothing to her. Ada hadn’t met the woman, didn’t really want to. Ada already had enough on her plate, with Freddy hiding and the baby getting bigger. She didn’t need another person to deal with, and she never really got along with the women in Small Heath anyways. When she was younger, they’d only talk to her in an attempt to woo one of her brothers, and after that, she’d always assumed the worst from female friends and ruined the friendships well enough herself.

She was pulled from her thoughts when Tommy asked, “How does he know her name?”

“He asked,” Polly replied blandly, and Ada let out a small laugh. Her brothers were pompous, and cocky with everyone afraid of ‘em. She could completely believe that they’d never asked a woman her name.

“So what now?” Arthur asked, glancing at John who was massaging his temple as though trying to ward off a terrible headache, “We go over and ask her if she knows anything about ghosts? She hates us already.”

At that moment, Ada decided maybe she did want to meet this woman. Any woman smart enough to realize that her brothers were idiots was someone she needed to meet. And so, she offered, “I could talk to her?”

“No,” Tommy responded, and even though he didn’t say it, everyone in the room heard the unsaid ‘I don’t trust you anymore’. And she’d never admitted it but it hurt. She’d been closest to Tommy once, and now every conversation they had ended in disaster. And Freddie Thorne was only one of many disagreements they had. Before she could call him out on it, he was already up, grabbing his coat as he said, “I’ll be back.”

The anger bubbling up inside of her was not quelled when Polly gripped her arm to stop her from confronting her brother. And before Polly could say anything, Ada yanked her arm free from her grip and hissed, “I’m a fucking Shelby too!”

Grabbing her coat, she raced after her brother, looping her arm through his when she reached him. She didn’t miss the way he clenched his jaw, revealing his displeasure as he said, “I’m still mad at you.”

“That’s because you’re an idiot,” She responded, “I’m a grown woman, Tommy.”

“Yea, and it’s you they’ll call a whore, they won’t say anything about Thorne.” He said plainly.

She wondered if perhaps she should point out that he sounded like Polly, that they were one and the same. She supposed it wouldn’t really help his mood, and so she shrugged and tightened her grip on his arm as he led them down the street and said, “No, they won’t. You won’t let them.”

She couldn’t help the confidence that dripped from her tone, because she knew she was right. She hated him right now, she knew he wasn’t happy with her either, but they were family. Even more, they were Shelbys. And even if they were constantly at each other’s throats, they were family.

-x-

“Can I get you anything to drink?” 

The waitress was pretty, with her wavy blonde hair and bright eyes. Her clothing was modest, and she held herself with a confidence that made Harry feel as though she didn’t belong in Small Heath. Her accent made it quite certain that she was far from home.

“Yes,” Harry nodded, realizing that she’d be staring for perhaps a moment too long, “Surprise me.”

The blonde only smiled slightly at her statement, glancing around the selection quickly before reaching for a bottle. As she grabbed a clean glass, she asked with the teasing lilt, “How do you know I won’t just sell you the most expensive drink we have?”

Eying the glass being offered to her, Harry shrugged. Sifting through her pockets, she pulled out a few coins before sliding them across the counter before accepting the glass with a small nod. Licking her lips as she eyed the golden liquid curiously before responding, “Because it’d be very foolish of you to tell me of your wicked plan prior to taking my money.”

She twirled the glass experimentally in her hand, in a manner not unlike one she’d seen the man sitting further down the bar do. She didn’t miss the barmaid’s amused glances being thrown her way. And so, she raised the glass to her lips and took a generous mouthful. She swished the liquid in her mouth for a moment before swallowing, unbothered by the burn that followed.

“How was it? The barmaid asked, 

Her response was bland, “It tastes like piss.”

Harry watched her work intently, noticing how the intoxicated men in the bar chattered with her. They seemed to spew out secrets without even pausing to consider them. Harry herself was not unaware of the effects of alcohol, but having always been one who was privy to many dangerous secrets, she’d never cared to put herself in such a vulnerable situation.

But she wasn’t here to drink, not really. She was here to see the barmaid who’d peaked the suspicions of the Shelby matriarch. The older woman held nothing but distaste and suspicion towards the pretty barmaid, and Harry couldn’t comprehend why. Certainly, there was something peculiar about her mannerisms, but nothing to warrant such dislike. 

“Can I ask you something?” Harry asked when the woman stood before her once more. And without waiting for a response, she asked, “Do men frequently share their woes with you?”

A sly smirk flittered on her lips as she leaned in, and in a conspiratorial tone she said, “Men always tell their troubles to a barmaid.”

“Even the Inspector?” Harry asked without missing a beat.

Her question seemed to startle the woman quite a bit if the way she fumbled with the glass in her hand was any indication. It tumbled from her grasp, and for a moment Harry wondered if she’d be able to grab it before it smashed against the bartop. And before she could ponder on that for too long, her own hand snapped out and grasped the glass before it could make contact with the bartop with practiced ease. 

She inspected the glass for a moment before placing it right in front of the woman who had now schooled her expression. Regarding her with a guarded expression, the barmaid said, “He hasn’t come here.”

Shrugging blandly, Harry asked, “But you’ve met him? You know who I’m talking about?”

“I’ve seen him,” she responded, wiping the glass down, as she added, “Everyone’s been talking about him. Apparently, he’s been making quite a mess.”

Harry wanted to scoff at the statement. Energetic children made messes. Fumbling barmaids made messes. Breaking down doors, harassing innocent people, and destroying churches fell just over the tip of making a mess. 

Perhaps it was simply her own distaste for the man which caused the sneer to curl at her lips. She still couldn’t dismiss the images of children screaming and running away, and that memory has somehow weaved itself into the memory of the battle of Hogwarts. And if there was one thing she hated, it was remembering the past. Remembering all the lives that had been lost, remembering everything she’d lost. If she tried, and if she wanted, she could go now and ensure that the future did not turn out so bleak. She could find Merope Gaunt, ensure that Tom Marvolo Riddle was never born. 

There would be others, Death had told her on the numerous occasions she’d entertained the idea of meddling with time. Warned her that she would never be allowed to take such liberties with the souls that belonged to Death. 

Realizing that she’d long been scowling at the empty glass she’d been clutching, she loosened her grip slowly, one finger at a time. Glancing up, she found that the barmaid had abandoned her position, and judging for the way she busied herself with the men occupying the other end of the bar, she had overstayed her welcome. 

-x-

As she walked back to her shop, she felt the familiar weight of the wand holster strapped to her wrist. Small Heath had put her in a foul mood, and she could say she preferred the company of Death to anyone in this place. Deep down, she knew what she wanted so desperately was the familiar voice of Hermione chiding her for her snarky comments, and Ron complimenting her colourful vocabulary. She missed Luna’s peculiarities and Neville’s constant stream of Herbology related facts. But she could never admit it out loud because she knew that she longed for a life that had died long before her arrival here.

She was snapped from her pondering by the presence of two individuals standing outside of her shop and her foul mood only worsened.

“The way you’ve ignored the closed sign leads me to believe you can’t read.” She said sharply, not in the mood to entertain a Shelby.

Thomas Shelby only took a painfully long drag of his cigarette before crushing it under his shoes. He cast a glance towards the woman in his company before responding, “Are you always in a bad mood?”

Biting down a retort, Harry turned her attention to the woman who pushed herself in between the two of them and held her hand out towards her, “Hello, I’m Ada. Ada Shelby.”

For a moment, she wondered if the woman was married to one of the brothers, but quickly dismissed the notion when she noticed the glaring similarities between the two of them.

This woman had a softness to her features which her siblings did not, save for the youngest. This didn’t necessarily mean that she was anything less of a Shelby, it only meant that she looked harmless. And Harry knew very well that appearances were very deceiving.

Her dark hair was short and framed her pale face well. Also, she was glaringly pregnant.

Reluctantly slipping her hands into the woman’s smaller one, she gave it one firm shake before letting it drop, “Were you so intent on getting your fortune told?”

As she unlocked the shop, she noticed the siblings share a look but when neither responded, Harry said, “You’ll have to forgive my manners, Ms.Shelby. None of my previous encounters with a Shelby have been particularly pleasant.”

“I’m not surprised,” Ada whispered under her breath, and Harry could feel the smirk curl at her lips as she saw the judging look the woman threw her brother.

She pushed the door open and motioned for the two of them to enter. Ada was quick to enter with a small nod, taking the opportunity to glance around the shop curiously. She took one glance at the empty teapot sitting next to a stack of teacups and asked, “Tea?”

“Reading tea leaves,” Harry said, shutting the door behind her and asking, “Care for a cup?”

The woman eyed the intricately painted teapot in a manner that Harry could only describe as envious, and for a moment her features adopted a dazed look. Her pale fingers traced the curve of the handle as she said, “None for me...Tommy?”

“I don’t drink tea.” He responded blandly, dismissing it easily.

It was only at that moment that Harry remembered he was there. From their previous encounters, Harry had thought him a man who demanded the attention of everyone in the room, a man who craved power. But today, there was something different, a guarded look in his eyes that she’d not yet been on the receiving end of. It was a look that was only aimed at liars and traitors. A look that suggested that someone was onto you.

A look, she didn’t believe she deserved to be on the receiving end of.

Frowning, Harry grabbed the cards placed on the edge of the table halfheartedly and shuffled it quickly. Fanning the cards, she held the deck out towards the man, watching as his long fingers brushed over the back of a few cards before he finally settled on one of the cards closest to her thumb.

Harry couldn’t quite keep the smirk off her lips as she inspected the card he’d chosen, and it was a mischievous tone she used when she said, “Jack of spades. A dark young man, possibly troubled, one who dislikes the questioner.”

He wasn’t a young man, not technically. However, in comparison to the Master of Death, everyone was young. And she’d only met one man darker than him, and he did share so many similarities to the cold Slytherin heir. And he certainly disliked her, and the feelings were mutual.

She didn’t realize they’d be staring at each other until she felt the weight of his gaze. He seemed to be looking for something in particular, his eyes roaming with purpose and intent. In fact, she wondered if he realized he’d leaned his head towards her at some point. It seemed not, because when his sister cleared her throat next to them, he seemed to be snapped from a daze.

Glancing at the woman, Harry found that she wasn’t looking at the two of them, but instead, her focus remained solely on her brother. Her eyes were narrowed, and the two siblings seemed to share a silent conversation before Ada’s eyes snapped to meet hers. And in the most uncomfortable of tones, she asked, “Have you...Well,-I mean...Have you seen anything peculi-”

Her brother seemed to swoop to her rescue with a most unimpressed look before he said, “They say you walked into town naked and looking like the dead. Was the trip from London so terrible?”

You could practically hear the sarcasm dripping from his tone, and Harry had half the mind to tell him that such a tone did not suit him. However, that would imply that other tones did, and well according to the words carved onto her wrist, she must not tell lies.

“It was far from pleasant, I’ll admit.” She responded vaguely, her fingers absentmindedly shuffling with the deck in her hands.

Before he could further question her, Ada Shelby seemed to abandon all subtleties and whilst leaning against the table with her hand on her belly, she said, “My brothers believe they’ve seen a ghost. A ghost of a soldier with bullet wounds in his chest.” 

There was a moment of silence, completely and utterly deafening silence as Harry processed the statement. She waiting for one of them to laugh, but they only watched her with wary gazes. And at that moment, she decided it was best that her company leave as soon as possible.

“Regardless of whether or not I looked like the dead, I am most certainly alive. I have a pulse.” Harry said with a smirk, trying to swallow the uncertainty she felt.

She couldn’t understand how they’d seen a ghost. Harry was certain that the Shelby’s were muggles, and muggles were not known to see spirits clearly. Muggles -while able to feel uncomfortable near the presence of ghosts- could not see such perfect apparitions as the Shelby described.

She was forced back to the moment when Thomas Shelby held his palm out towards her with an expectant, “Can I confirm that?”

“I beg your pardon?” She demanded, eying the hand with confusion.

She watched as his eyes fell to her wrist, and he said, “Your pulse.”

She considered demanding he leave, but she could see that the muggles were shaken. Sighing, Harry offered the man her other, unscarred wrist. She didn’t care to have a conversation regarding her particular scars.

Calloused fingers swiftly wound themselves around her outstretched arm, and his thumb dragged across her skin with a softness which she did not expect from a man such as himself. It was the pressure of the two fingers pressing against her skin that caused her gaze to return to the man whose eyes remained firmly on her.

Perhaps it was simply the fact that she’d rarely had contact with the living for more than a second or two, or perhaps it was the fact that she loathed the man standing across from her, but she could feel her heartbeat quicken.

She could tell that it was not missed by Thomas, and in an effort to regain some kind of standing in their battle of wits, she asked, “Do you want to shag me, Mr.Shelby?”

Her question didn’t evoke the reaction she’d wanted from the man. His expression remained impassive aside from his pale eyes darkened threateningly, but she didn’t miss the way his grip on her arm tightened at her question. His gaze narrowed slightly, and it looked as though he was actually pondering the question, only furthering her own unease. 

It seemed that his sister did not share his skills, and she choked on air in a manner not unlike she herself had when being presented with a similar question by their aunt.

“Your aunt mentioned that I’ve been the topic of discussion many times. She suspected the reason might be that I was shagging you or one of your brothers. I wondering if perhaps your complete lack of human decency was your way of flirting.” Harry clarified, pulling her arm from his grasp when she’d decided that she’d given him ample time to check her pulse and conclude that she was alive.

“Yes,” He said, looking at her through hooded eyes. He seemed to revel in the horror that flashed through her own if the smirk on his lips was anything to go by. And then he added, “Definitely alive. But uninvolved? I doubt it.”

He nodded to his sister, who seemed to share his own amusement, before turning on his heel and leaving. Ada however, remained balanced against the table a moment longer before she declared confidently, “You’ll be seeing us again, Harry.”

It was only after they’d departed that Harry realized that she knew her name, she’d said her name, and that meant they all knew it. And it wasn’t a terrible loss, not really. But she didn’t think any of the Shelbys were content with just one thing. They all had that greedy look in their eyes, whether it was money, or power, or something else entirely. And she’d unknowingly presented them with the perfect little mystery to unravel because she hadn’t realized something very important. She’d been sizing them up as individuals and as Shelbys. She hadn’t considered that they functioned as a team - albeit a dysfunctional and disastrous one.

But something big was coming if the spirits were any indication. There was no room for gangsters in the Magical world. She could barely tolerate the dark lords and did not care for more dangerous activities.

But the cards had already been dealt, and she supposed if the Shelby family was so keen on playing with her, she might as well make it a game they would not soon forget.

-x-

Miles away, a man rode into town on a horse.

His skin was pulled taut over bone, and his gaunt features were further exaggerated by the dark expression on his face. His skin was sickly pale, so much so that it seemed to shine against his dark hair. He rode a pale horse who seemed to share his same sickly disposition. Sunken eyes seemed to regard the surrounding industrialization with apathy.

“Your horse looks like its ‘bout to die right there.”

The voice was hoarse and broken from years of smoking. The man himself seemed to have seen many years, and judging from his appearance, most of which very particularly difficult. He looked at him with unabashed curiosity, as his soot-covered fingers brought his cigarette closer to his lips to take another drag.

“Hades has served me well for what seems to be many lifetimes.” He responded, running his boney fingers through the mane of his horse soothingly, “She will see me to the end.”

“Can’t imagine that’ll be too long, you look like death yourself.” the man responded, before snorting at his own statement in amusement.

And perhaps it was the irony of the situation itself but he too found it amusing. Not that he would ever share that with the man. 

  
  
  



	5. Reunited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest chapter yet, I hope you like it. The sneak peek from the first chapter will be part of next chapter and then everything will pick up from there!

One could say that this started with the boy in the church, who’d sought out her company while his brothers were at war. Or perhaps, if speaking of the trouble itself, another could argue that the moment it all began was when three brothers walked into a newly acquired shop and harassed its new owner. However, if Harry were to pinpoint the exact moment in time when she learned how aggravatingly intertwined her life was with that of the Shelbys, she would say it was the moment that a dour looking man stalked into her shop, flanked by men with poorly concealed firearms. He walked with purpose and confidence that made it clear that Harry was not going to like this man.

With an unimpressed sneer, and in a most irritating voice, he asked, “Where would I find a man by the name of Shelby?”

She eyed him for a moment, quite fearful now that it was all the men of this era who were simply dreadful, and shared the same foul disposition. She watched as he scanned the room intently, as though Thomas Shelby would suddenly leap up from behind her counter and cower before him. And perhaps it was simply the fact that she’d always been the abrasive Gryffindor, but she’d spoken before she’d even realized, “Perhaps you’d like to check under the tea table? There are so many little places a man might slither away to, I fear I can hardly be expected to know his whereabouts all the time.”

He turned his attention to her, as though finally noticing her presence. His face turned an ugly shade of red, not unlike the colour she recalled Uncle Vernon turning when she’d blown up Aunt Marge all those years ago. His nostrils flared angrily, as he slammed his fist against the counter between them, and hissed, “Do you know who I am?”

“No,” She responded easily, eyeing the band on his ring finger with pity when she realized some poor woman had actually married this man. Noticing his burning rage, she added, “But if history has proved anything, it’s that men like you never pass up an opportunity to introduce yourselves.”

He seemed to froth at the mouth as he snarled at her, but instead of giving him the chance to throw his fit, she eyed the men who flanked him and let out a low whistle. Waving her hand in the air to silence the man’s childish outrage, she asked, “Why would you assume I’d know their whereabouts?”

“Your neighbors say that you frequently entertain Shelby men.” 

Even if his comment had gone over her head, his lewd grin did little to mask the insult in his statement. He thought she was a whore. And perhaps, even worse, he thought she was a Shelby whore. And it took great effort to swallow her desire to slam the man’s head against the wooden countertop repeatedly.

“Are you trying to imply something?” She asked cooly,

It seemed that he wasn’t accustomed to this manner of reaction. Instead of becoming a blushing mess, her mask remained unmoved. Eyes glancing down at the counter, she added, “Trust me, if I were a whore, I’d be charging you for wasting my time.”

Before he could retort, the front door was opened and a woman ducked her head in, closing the door behind her to shield herself from the onslaught of wind outside. Raising her head, the woman frowned, her blue eyes narrowing slightly as she regarded everyone in the crowded shop before her eyes settled on Harry. Pushing a strand of her dark hair behind her ear, she slipped past the group of men, quite intent of reaching Harry.

Her expression remained so blank in fact that Harry wasn’t certain if she was seeking Harry out for protection, or instead to protect her. As she pushed past the angry man, she was stilled when he spoke.

“You! Do you know where I can find a fucking Shelby?” He demanded, his eyes fixated on the new woman.

Harry noticed the way his grubby hands were reaching out towards the woman’s wrist, and before he could touch her, her own hand snapped out and gripped the woman’s pale wrist. All but tugging the woman behind her, and away from the potentially threatening man.

He seemed to not have appreciated Harry’s interference if his scowl served as any indication. Her movement, however, had forced his eyes to drop down to the Shelby woman’s hand. He seemed to notice the lack of a ring, and then his gaze turned lecherous. He eyed her with a look that made it quite clear what he considered the woman to be, and then he drawled, “You another Shelby whore?”

Harry could practically see the gears turning in the woman’s head, and her grip on her wrist tightened warningly around the flesh of her arm. It would do no good for the Shelby to open her mouth when there were so many possible threats surrounding them. Not that Harry doubted that she could easily take the muggles before her, it was simply her unwillingness to reveal any more magic in front of a Shelby.

Pale eyes darted to meet hers and for a moment before the woman snapped her parting lips shut. However, Harry didn’t fail to notice that Ada Shelby shared a trait with her brothers when she clenched her jaw so forcefully that Harry could see the muscles of her jaw tightening.

In an attempt to redirect the man’s attention from the ticking time bomb currently standing beside her, Harry sighed, “Honestly, Shelby men aren’t ones to hide. Just look for the morons strutting around like peacocks. That’ll be the on-”

Her statement was silenced by Ada all but spitting at the man, “The Garrison.”

He only seemed amused at Ada’s bubbling rage, and offered her the most degrading of grins as he set a few coins on the counter, taking care to slide them over to her slowly as he said, “For your time.”

As the men shuffled out of the shore, Harry kept her tight grip on the woman’s wrist to stop her from stalking out and striking the man. Mind you, she’d certainly not put it past the woman if she did, but Harry didn’t think it would be best to let a pregnant woman face a group of gangsters regardless of whether or not she was a Shelby or not.

“I’m certain your brothers can handle him far better than you, Ms.Shelby.” Harry reason, in an effort to dull her anger. The brunette for her part, did not allow her face to betray any emotion as she turned her eyes to Harry and demanded, “Who the fuck does he think he is?”

Trying to recall the name he’d thrown around during his tirade and Harry hummed, “Billy Kimber, I suppose.”

She realized that Ada Shelby was no longer staring at her, but instead she was drumming her fingers agitatedly against the wooden counter before her before declaring, “Since no one in my family wants to tell me anything, I’ll go and find out myself.”

“I would advise against that,” Harry hummed, as she watched Ada Shelby fix her coat, “Considering your state.”

She raised her head then with a confused expression, as she licked her chapped lips and arched a brow before demanding, “You’d let a pregnant woman go alone?”

Staring at the woman blankly for a moment, Harry realized that regardless of those cherubic features, Ada was no less a Shelby. And with a frown, Harry demanded, “Are you attempting to guilt me?”

“Of course,” Ada said, reaching towards the door, “And let’s not waste time. We both know it’s working.”

As the woman strutted out of the shop, Harry couldn’t stop the small grin for tugging at her lips as she grasped her own coat from behind the counter and sped to follow the pregnant woman.

-x-

Glancing at the woman beside her, Ada couldn’t help but notice that she seemed entirely unbothered that they were about to eavesdrop on a dangerous group of people. In fact, Harry seemed so unaffected, that you would assume she was simply taking a stroll around town.

“So, are we to go in guns blazing?” Harry asked lazily, fixing the sleeve of her oversized dark coat. The coat seemed to be two sizes too large for her, and the sleeves had been folded twice just to allow her hands to slip through.

“No,” She said, “We’re going to listen. And if necessary, I am going to confront my idiot brothers.”

For her part, the woman seemed unbothered by her declaration and instead shoved her hands into her coat pockets. Rolling her shoulders back slightly, Harry seemed to be deep in thought, and in an effort to initiate some manner of conversation, Ada cleared her throat.

“You’re not afraid,” She stated matter of factly, “Of Kimber, or his men. Definitely not of my brothers. You must be very smart, or very stupid.”

Ada didn’t miss the small mischievous grin that tugged up at her lips, and the woman responded, “I am certain it’s the latter.”

She sincerely doubted that. Ada had met many foolish women. She’d seen ones who were wide-eyed and innocent, and the ones who were cocky and thought themselves untouchable. And all those women were quick to crumble under the strength of men. Because it was a man’s world. But she’d be damned if her child grew up in such a world.

But Harry was not foolish, not from what Ada had seen. In a handful of encounters, she’d turned her family on its head. She had seen the way Finn struggled to educate himself, and seen the way her brothers did not know how to react to a strong woman. A woman, who apparently used magic, unlike the one they were familiar with. What her family members claimed to have witnessed was no gypsy magic, no gypsy curse. It was something different.

But she didn’t trust them, and rightfully so. It meant she wasn’t dumb, not easily swayed. And Ada was admittedly eager to earn her trust because she knew that something most spectacular would come with it. Or at least, something not so bleak as what the future promised to be with men ruling it.

“Do not think too hard, Ms.Shelby,” Her posh voice dragged her free from her thoughts, “It would do you no good to be distracted whilst eavesdropping.”

A strong grip yanked her into the woman’s side, and away from the men who seemed to be running out from the Garrison. Her hand fell to clutch her rounded belly before she glanced over at Harry and hissed, “Those fucking idiots.”

Shrugging, Harry hummed with a bored lilt to her voice, “I don’t suppose we can walk in there now.”

“We go ‘round back.” Ada declared, guiding Harry towards the back door. Carefully opening the door in an attempt to silence the old wood from creaking in protest, she held it open for the woman behind her. Harry for her part, seemed to move like smoke, even the floorboards didn’t dare groan under her weight. Of course, Ada supposed she wasn’t glaringly pregnant.

They could hear the voices getting louder as they slithered behind the bar, and they could hear the irritating sound of Kimber’s voice as he said, “But when they look like that… You’ve got quite the women here. Especially that one from the fortune shop, you just know she likes it-”

“You said you wanted men called Shelby. You’ve got three of them.” Came Tommy’s level voice, silencing the man’s statement. 

The sound of footsteps passing by the bar made the women share a glance, just as the blonde barmaid came into view. Her eyes strayed from the men, towards the women hidden behind the bar. She paused for a moment, eyes darting over Ada, and then towards Harry and something akin to uncertainty flashed in her pale eyes before she turned her head and kept walking.

Over the voices of the men, Ada threw her companion a most curious glance, to which she received only a shrug and a whispered, “She doesn’t like me.”

“I want to know what you want,”

Ada couldn't stop herself from rolling her eyes at her brother’s cocky statement. This was just like Tommy. Just like him to meddle in something far bigger than him, far bigger than any of them. Kimber, judging from the commotion he caused, was a big fish. Too big for them.

“There were suspicious betting patterns at Kempton Park. A horse called Monaghan Boy.” A new voice said, “He won by a length twice and then finished last, with 3000 pounds bet on him.”

There was a silence, and Ada glanced over at Harry to find her unaffected by the statement. For all the things she seemed to know, it appeared that the horse races were not one of them. Instead of the curious expression on her face, she simply looked bored.

“Which one am I talking to then? Which one of you is the boss?” She heard Tommy’s voice, seemingly unbothered by the threatening man sitting before him.

As the voice started to speak once more, Kimber pushed away from the table in a fit of rage. From their hiding place, they could see his head as he all but spat at her brothers, “You fixed a race without my permission. You fucking Gypsy scum. What, live off the war pensions of these poor Garrison Lane widows! That’s your level. I am Billy Kimber, I run the races.”

“And there’s the tirade,” Harry grumbled under her breath before offering her an innocent smile when she noticed Ada’s aghast expression.

“You fixed one of them so I’m going to have you shot against a post.”

His statement startled her, and before she could compose herself she flinched, knocking into the bottle behind her. She could feel her heartbeat skyrocket as she watched the bottle slip from the shelf and towards the ground. Her hand reached out to grab the bottle, only to miss it by a hair's breadth. Just as she thought she’d given them away, a pale arm shot by her and gripped the bottle just before it could shatter against the floor.

Ada could imagine many a man withering under the glare thrown her way as the woman unscrewed the bottle and took a long sip before slumping against the counter.

“It would be an honor to work with you, Mr.Kimber.” Tommy’s voice ensnared her attention, doing well to calm her pounding heart. He too was standing now, and she could see through the blank expression plastered on his face.

“Nobody works with me.” Kimber responded snidely, “People work for me.”

The sound of something clattering onto the floor was followed by a condescending, “Pick it up, Pikey.”

There was a moment of silence before John leaned down, only to be stopped by Tommy. Her brother picked the coin up, his fingers brushing it as he held his head eye and met Kimber’s gaze, entirely unaffected.

For a moment she feared that the man would shoot him dead right there, but instead, he glanced up and said, “It’s for the ceiling.”

“Thank you, Mr.Kimber,” Tommy called, and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

As the accountant stood up and began to speak, Harry gripped her arm and motioned for the back. And despite wanting to stay and listen further, she realized it would be far too difficult to explain to her brothers why she’d been eavesdropping, and with Harry no less. And so, she followed to woman towards the back, only sparing her brothers one last glance.

As they reached for the door, she glanced at the woman beside her to find that she was still clutching the bottle of rum. Noticing her attention, Harry only raised it slightly in the air and declared, “I liked it.”

The disbelieving laugh that slid past her lips at the ridiculousness of the woman’s blase reaction to what they’d just witnessed was quickly silenced by a soft voice demanding, “What were you doing?”

Turning her head, Ada’s grin slid from her face as her eyes settled on the blonde barmaid. Her arms were crossed in front of her chest, and she quite looked like a mother reprimanding her children. And something about the pose irked Ada to no end.

It didn’t help that Tommy spent all of his free time with her. In fact, since the woman had walked into town, Tommy didn’t entertain any of his family members unless he was forced to. Instead, he seemed far too enthralled by the blonde before her, or more likely, by whatever was between her legs. Well, her and whatever business he had with Billy Kimber.

And so, she reached out and snatched the bottle from Harry’s hand and waved it slightly before declaring, “Drinking, of course. Now run along, barmaid.”

“You took that,” The barmaid protested, only spurring Ada’s rage.

Stomping towards the woman, She glanced at the bottle before forcefully throwing the damn thing down, reveling in the way the blonde jumped back as the glass shattered between them. 

And then, glaring down at her, a sneer on her lips as she said, “Don’t you know? Shelbys don’t fucking pay.”

There was a moment of silence, where it seemed that everyone in Small Heath had retired for the night. And there was only her and the barmaid who had become the poor victim to her ever-growing rage. The moment only shattered when a posh voice asked, “I don’t suppose you’d be able to tell me what kind of rum that was from … the shattered pieces?”

A glance at the woman made it quite clear that this had been her attempt at diffusing the situation. However, judging from the expression on the barmaid’s face, she did not appreciate the attempt at all. 

Pushing a strand of hair away from her face, Ada shrugged, “Remember that next time, barmaid.”

-x-

Finn stood outside the shop, shuffling his feet as he attempted to muster up the confidence to venture inside. His last encounter had not ended well, but she’d spoken to his siblings, and he didn’t feel like he was any more annoying than they were. In fact, he’d bet that he was infinitely nicer than his brothers.

And it’d been Harry who had been rude last, and he really didn’t think he needed to be so afraid. She had said she hadn’t wanted to be friends, but he wasn’t here to be friends. He was here to prove a point.

“You are the last Shelby I expected to see,” Her soft voice called from behind him, and he was quick to turn around. However, the suddenness of the action caused him to lose his footing and he fell backward. He threw his arms out in an attempt to catch onto something to stop his descent, only to grip onto the flower pot sitting beside the door, bringing it down with him.

He could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks and he scowled, prepared for the woman to laugh at his struggle. Instead, she only knelt in front of him, and brushed some dirt off of his head, and held a hand out towards him.

As she helped him up, she said, “It wasn’t my intention to frighten you.”

“I’m not scared,” He said quickly, peaking around her and into the shop. It definitely looked strange, which hardly surprised him. Without thinking, he ducked under her arm and ran into the shop, only glancing back to say, “I can read.”

“Can you?” She humored him, closing the door behind them and shrugging out of the large black coat she’d been wearing. Throwing it onto the rack behind the door, she turned to him, and asked, “Did you come simply to tell me that?”

Her statement made the boy frown up at her, and he puffed up his chest and declared, “I can prove it! Show me the book you were reading, the one at Church!”

Shrugging, she shuffled behind the counter and ducked for a moment, sorting through the things that had amassed there. As she searched, he inched near the table. His fingers trailed over the dark cards sitting on top of them before he pulled a card from the deck, and then another, and then another. He reached for a fourth, only to be stopped by the hand falling onto his shoulder.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, jumping away from the table.

Harry wasn’t looking at him though, her eyes were fixated on the cards he’d pulled, her eyebrows drawn together as she frowned at them. The worried look on her face made his own gaze drop to the cards, but he couldn’t understand what she found so ominous about a two, seven, and ten of spades.

In an effort to regain her attention, his hands shot out to grasp the dark book in her hands, pulling it free from her grasp and setting it down to cover the cards. He grinned slightly up at her, and felt proud as he watched her cloudy expression vanish as he declared, “Get ready!”

And she only smirked as he flipped the book open to a random page, his lips parting to form words, only to inhale sharply. Flipping to another page, and then the next, only to find that he couldn’t recognize any of the words on the paper. He knew the letters but had never seen them used in this way. And then he grumbled, “It’s not English.”

“Latin,” Harry responded in a cocky manner as she pulled the book back towards her. Closing the book, she added, “And it doesn’t have anything of use anyways, you’re hardly missing anything of quality.”

“Are all your books in Latin?” He asked, and at her nod, he said, “When I come back, I’ll bring a book in English to prove that I can read!”

She smiled then, her eyes brightening as she asked, “You don’t believe your word is enough?”

He shook his head, “Aunt Polly said you don’t trust us Shelbys.”

She eyed him then, a calculating look in her eyes. He noticed the way her eyebrows drew together as she thought. Something about her seemed different from their last encounter. She wasn’t so aloof and detached, she looked far more human than she had before. It was a strange thing to think that she’d previously looked something other than human. She’d looked so blank, too uncaring of the world around her as though time did not move for her the same as it did for everyone else.

She didn’t look like that anymore, or at least she looked less like that. She looked more aware of, existing on the same plane as everyone else. And Finn reckoned it was a strange look for her as she said, “I do not. But I can hardly judge a child for the crimes of their family.”

He bristled then, “You don’t know them.”

“Neither do you,” She rebutted, “Children have no business fighting the battles of their family.”

And he wanted to argue that she had already judged them before any of them had ever spoken to them. It wasn’t fair for her to make such conclusions. She didn’t know his siblings like he didn’t. He wanted to say so much more, but her words held a tone of finality that he was familiar with. It was the same tone that Aunt Polly used, and the same one Tommy would use. And he had long learned that that particular tone meant that he ought to shut up and sit down.

And so with great difficulty, he bit his tongue and took a step away from her. Hands behind his back, he asked, “Did you send the ghosts after John?”

“No,” She said, her lips curling slightly as she added, “I don’t understand why grown men are claiming to see spirits either. Are Gypsies superstitious?”

He wanted to ask her how she knew they were Gypsy because he certainly hadn’t told her and he was certain that neither of his siblings has either. Not that it wasn’t common knowledge, but from what he’d seen and heard, Harry didn’t talk to the people of Small Heath enough to know anything about them.

“Gypsy magic is real!” He declared, “I heard Curly say the Lees cursed Tommy’s horse! He had to shoot it in the head.”

“I see.” She said her eyes returning to the cards on the table. Her expression was so troubled in fact, that he wanted to reach out and return the cards back to the deck. He watched as she bit at her lips before turning her bright eyes to him and offering him a hand, “The sun is setting. Shall I escort you home?”

“I can go by myself,” He responded, eyeing the outstretched hand curiously.

At his words, her eyes narrowed dangerously and she said, “I insist.”

At that moment, as he reached out to grip her hand, he noted that some of her mannerisms were terribly similar to Aunt Polly.

-x-

As Harry walked them home, following the boy’s directions which were thrown in with his neverending tirade, she reflected on the troublesome fortune. And at that moment, she truly felt for the professors who’d taught her. She too had a penchant for attracting trouble, but she’d never considered the worry adults around her had felt. But she also believed her words wholeheartedly; kids were not meant to trouble themselves with the wars of their parents. And regardless of her dislike for Shelbys, she was certain they loved the boy, and she couldn’t see them actively putting the boy in the way of disaster.

“Are you even listening to me?” Finn demanded, his cherubic face scrunched up as he glared up at her.

She was certain he’d been trying to seem intimidating, however, he was failing miserably. And it was with glee that she said blandly, “Not in the slightest.”

Scoffing, the boy began responding to her, only to be silenced by a voice demanding, “Finn?”

However, Harry didn’t recognize the voice immediately and having already been uneasy, reacting without thinking. In a moment, the boy was pushed behind her and her fingers gripped the wrist reaching out towards the boy. 

Swiping the legs of the man from beneath him, she pushed the body down roughly into the uneven pavement beneath them. His arm wound painfully behind his back, and the heel of her boot digging into his spine, she demanded, “Who are you?”

The man moaned something unintelligible and overpowered by the pain in his tone.

It was only when Finn tugged at her coat, “Harry, that’s Freddie! Freddie Thorne!”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” She asked, letting her grip on the man’s arm loosen slightly at the boy’s apparent recognition of the man.

“Freddie Thorne, Harry! He won’t hurt us!” Finn insisted, wincing down at the man who had now pushed her off and was pulling himself up off the ground. He’d cut his hands on the pavement, and brushed the dirt off them as he scowled at her.

“You know her, Finn?” He demanded, his eyes never straying from her.

She met his gaze easily. She’d stared Voldemort in the face, and Death too. Compared to them, Freddie Thorne was nothing intimidating. And unintentionally, a challenging smirk pulled at her lips as she regarded him.

“Of course!” Finn nodded eagerly, “Aunt Polly knows I went to see Harry. I got her permission.”

The man seemed unwilling to leave the boy in her care, in fact, he looked quite ready to pull him away from her, but Finn Shelby was still gripping tightly at her jacket. And so, Freddie Thorne gave her a single glance before taking a step back, “Alright then. Sorry for frightening you.”

“My apologies, as well.” She responded easily, her eyes drifting to his battered hands as she explained, “I spook easy.”

She bit back a smirk as she watched the way he eyed her suspiciously, his hand coming up to rub his undoubtedly aching shoulder. His lips parted to respond to her, only for her attention to be ensnared by something behind.

“What a pleasant surprise,” A familiar voice called from behind her,

At that, she raised her eyes and shared an exasperated gaze with Freddie Thorne, before turning her head and greeting, “Hello, Mr.Shelby.”

He looked bored, his demeanor not matching his words. His left hand was tucked into the pocket of his jacket lazily, while the other held a lit cigarette away from his face. His cap was lowered, and she could barely make out the blue of his eyes as he lowered his gaze to the youngest in the company and said, “Home now, Finn. Polly’s begun to worry.”

“Yes, Tommy.” Finn said quickly before raising his gaze to Harry and declaring, “Next time I’ll prove it, ok?”

“Of course,” She replied and watched as the kid ran quickly in the direction of the house he’d pointed too, practically tripping over his feet as he pushed through the door. It was only once the boy had vanished through the door that she returned her gaze to the men beside her.

Freddie Thorne, for his part, was staring at Thomas unblinkingly, as though prepared for him to lash out. In equal parts, he seemed prepared to lash out himself, and without knowing the reason, she decided she wouldn’t fault him if he did.

“For someone who claims to hate Shelbys, you certainly can’t stay away,” Thomas said, taking a drag of his cigarette around a smirk before his eyes turned to Freddie. Pointing his cigarette in his direction, he declared, “And you really should stay away. I might just kill you otherwise, regardless of what Ada says.”

And suddenly it made sense why Thomas Shelby held such a distaste towards Freddie Thorne. Because Freddie Thorne was the father of Ada Shelby’s child, and perhaps more importantly, Freddie Thorne was not married to her. There was something ridiculous about the archaic beliefs of this period in time, she decided. And she certainly didn’t understand why it was acceptable for men to whore around, and not for women, but she didn’t care to dwell of such stupidity.

However, it seemed that Freddie Thorne wasn’t one to disregard Thomas like she was, and he threw her a parting nod before he began to walk away. She didn’t miss the curious glance he threw back at them.

“Charming as always, Mr.Shelby.” She said, “However, I shall take my leave now.”

As she turned to depart, he called from behind her, “I heard you met Billy Kimber. He was apparently quite taken with you. I wondered if the feeling was reciprocated?”

Before she could stop herself, she quipped, “Jealous?”

She hadn’t stopped moving and was very aware that Thomas was walking away from his home, and instead with her. She noticed with a frown that he still held onto the cigarette, it’s smoke being blown in her direction as he responded, “If you find him more agreeable than myself, then certainly.”

“You’ll rest well then, knowing I find both of you equally foul,” She said, shooting her arm out to push the blasted thing free from his hand and letting it fall to the ground. Crushing it under her boot, she added, “Those things will kill you, and while I’m not terribly bothered by that, I’d rather you not take me down with you.”

“That’s twice you’ve said that,” He pointed out, only glancing at his discarded cigarette once before following her, “There’s no proof, in fact just the other day I saw an ad in the paper with a doctor endorsing them.”

She stopped then, feeling quite foolish that she hadn’t quite realized how many things were different this time. And from his sharp gaze, Mr.Shelby was obviously not the person to make such mistakes around. She was certain he wouldn’t miss anything.

And so, in an effort to change the subject as quickly as possible, she said, “I heard you had to shoot your horse. A curse, Finn said.”

And with that, she started walking once more. Her gaze fixated on her feet as she wondered whether he’d let this particular blunder go, or push for more information. She knew what she’d have done in such situations.

“Do you know much about curses?” He responded, his tone harsh.

But for once, Harry didn’t believe she was the cause of his anger. This time, it wasn’t her question which has upset him, but instead, she supposed he did not want to talk about the matter at all. 

And so, she shrugged, “I often think of myself as cursed.”

She let of a sigh of relief when she could see the shop in the distance because the way he looked at her made her want to tremble. He was watching her like she was a pawn, something to be played with until it broke. And she hoped he’d not try to follow her into her store. But she had learned long ago that she rarely got what she wanted.

-x-

“I want you to work with me,” He said,

Harry didn’t seem at all affected by his statement, instead, she continued to pour herself a cup of tea. And he could see the way she stirred her milk into the tea with extra care, as though she had all the time in the world. And then she looked up at him, with a devilish smirk on her lips as she said, “Nobody works with me. People work for me.”

He knew those words, and he decided that they suited her posh accent far better than they even did Billy Kimber. The man all but spat the words, but she seemed to caress them. And even whispered, those words held more weight coming from her lips than they ever did coming from Kimber’s.

“You were there,” Tommy said, not even slightly surprised that she was once again privy to information that did not belong to her. Admittedly, he wasn’t too bothered with her knowledge, because he knew that the one thing she wanted more than anything else was to be left alone. And yet he continued to seek her out, perhaps it was simply because he liked to irritate her, enjoyed watching the fire in her eerily green eyes when he made a comment that she particularly disliked. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She responded, downing the last of tea before she twirled her cup in her hands as she inspected the tea leaves left at the bottom of the cup. Arching a brow, she shrugged and asked, “So, what do you want?”

“It’s not what I want, it’s about what you want.” Tommy responded, falling into a chair across from her, “What do you want?”

Her expression turned blank at his question, and her gaze darted around her shop lazily. Fingers trailing over the cards fanned out on the table, before tracing over the rim on her teacup. Then, a sigh left her lips and she raised her head to meet his gaze. And before he could blink, she’d clutched the teacup in her hand and hurled it in his direction. He was able to duck just in time to avoid being hit by the cup, which shattered against the wall behind him.

Still ducked, in case she decided to whip anything else at him, he glanced from the wall to the pieces on the floor, before returning to her. Her expression certainly didn’t reveal whether or not she intended to throw anything else, still as blank as before as she said, “If you want to whore someone out, spread your own legs.”

“I didn’t say what I need you to do, you simply assume the worst,” He said, straightening his back as he met her level glare head on, and said, “I want us to be friends.”

“I don’t have friends.” She said with conviction, “I find people around me die too quickly. I imagine you’re no stranger to that, for different reasons altogether.”

Leaning back into the chair, he looked at her, truly and properly. He didn’t think her to be as mysterious as everyone else did. She was a mystery, but not mysterious. He’d seen many people like her, many men. Men who blamed themselves for the deaths they’d witnessed. Men who still pretended that the world was black and white. Men who had been swallowed by guilt and built up walls to ward off future heartaches. 

If he’d tried, he could see her there. In war, she would certainly look most at home. With a weapon in hand, fighting someone else’s war. And he could only imagine the toll it would take on her, perhaps then her mask would finally crack. 

She hated him, he knew that already. He could tell from every glare and sneer. She hated him so passionately, as though he’d personally slaughtered everyone she’d ever cared for. She hated him, but her anger, this unadulterated rage was not his alone. Somewhere, in the depths of her mind, he existed with someone else. The true enemy, the one he reminded her of. And she hated this individual in a way so plain, that they could never redeem themselves. 

And she could tell herself she was good until the end of time, but he could see. He knew that if given the chance, she’d do no differently than he would. He knew that if given the slightest push, she could turn out just like him. Oh, and he was certain her fall would be beautiful and disastrous.

There was something about her that reminded him of old Gypsy tales. She looked like a curse, surrounded by objects that high society had long declared to be fake. But not him, Tommy believed in Gypsy magic, and why wouldn’t he? She was sat before him, practically begging him to use her. And if he could break her, she’d certainly prove to be a powerful weapon in his arsenal.

If things had been different, if he’d met her before the war and before Greta, they might have gotten along. But he’d long given up believing in good and bad, long dismissed love. Life wasn’t good, life was shit and you fucking suffered until death. And if he wanted power in life, he would get it. Because life wasn’t fair, and if being good didn’t save Greta, then he didn’t want to be good. And no one was going to change that. Not the fuckers out of his head, not Grace, and certainly not Harry.

Glancing down at the teapot in distaste, he asked, “Have you got anything stronger?”

“No,” Harry responded, “I have a counteroffer.”

At that, he could feel his eyebrows raise. He hadn’t expected her to respond to his offer, he hadn’t even expected her to entertain him. He’d been certain that he would have had to manipulate her into helping him and so he waited eagerly as she said, “I will offer you one favour, within reason. In exchange, you and anybody you associate with will not investigate me any further, and that includes any… peculiar happenings.”

Finishing her offer, she held out her hand, and he could see the scarred words against the pale skin peeking out of her jacket sleeve.

Eyeing the words for a moment, he asked, “And if I refuse?”

“You won’t.” She responded confidently.

Silence hung in the shop for a moment before he took his hand out of his pocket and allowed it to meet hers. He wasn’t prepared for her grip on his hand to tighten painfully. The smirk slowly sliding onto her lips certainly looked wicked as she turned their hands. And it felt like his blood was on fire, however, the scorching sensation was quickly replaced by power, and he truly could describe it no other way. And as suddenly as it had happened, it was gone, and the only sensation that remained was that of her flesh against his.

As she dropped his hand, he was quick to scan his unmarred flesh, before raising his searching gaze to her blank features. She blinked at him lazily before she said, “Oh, and one other thing Mr.Shelby. You might want to keep a watchful eye over your brother, I fear he might find himself involved more in your dealings than you’d want.”

-x-

“Hello Mistress,” The familiar words were uttered with their usual apathetic tone, in a voice that sounded hoarse from lack of use. And had she not recognized the voice, she’d certainly not miss the way the elder wand seemed to burn against her arm at the proximity of its creator. He wore a different body this time, much older than the forms he usually took in her presence.

He appraised her slowly, noting her almost completely healed bruises and the scowl on her face before rolling the aching shoulders of his body and bowing his head as he said, “Time has not been kind to you.”

“I could only say the same,” Came her scathing response, as she eyed his form in distaste before she demanded, “Does this mean you’ve finally come to explain why you’ve left me here?”

He watched her intently for a moment, and she could tell that he could feel her rage. Her magic cloaked the room, doing little to hide her emotions. And then, he said simply, “I did not bring you here. You came here of your own doing.”

“Liar,” She hissed, “I felt it. I felt your anger, I felt my blood burning and my magic crying out as you left me here!”

“My anger was well deserved.” He said, reaching out to grip her chin. Cold fingers dragged over the healing bruises, and the skin under his touch returned to its typical pale colour. Then he said, “Fear not, your memories shall return to you, just as I have.”

“And then?” She demanded,

He watched her carefully, and even though his face remained blank, she could practically feel his excitement. And it was truly a terrible thing when any of the horsemen were excited because she had long learned that chaos followed close behind.

“And then, Mistress, we shall reconcile.”

  
  



	6. Dancing with the Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't abandoned this story, I swear. This is very late. I'm sorry.   
> Happy Holidays everybody! I'll be updating again in a few days. Promise.

As she watched the kids running down the street, screaming and laughing as though they had no care in the world, she felt a weight push down on her chest. She could never remember ever being so carefree. She could remember times when she had been the happiest, surrounded by her friends. But even those memories were shadowed by the fear of the unknown. 

Glancing at the grey skies, she wondered if anyone else in Small Heath felt the suffocating presence of Death in their town. Wondered if anyone noticed the way shadows seemed to shrink away when the frail man walked down the uneven streets. 

She was still unaccustomed to this form. Death had always come to her in the form of children. Unbearably cunning, with dead eyes, but children still. But he was unhappy with her, for reasons unknown to her.

This form belonged to a weathered old man, who looked as though the wind would knock him over. But she could still see the way his fingers drummed against his leg as he watched the people he passed with a knowing look. And she knew that his frail form contained power so ancient and unrivaled that he held all life in the palm of his hand.

As though sensing her gaze, his head snapped towards her direction. His dark eyes met hers, and his eyes narrowed slightly before dragging towards the group of children who’d just run past her. The expression on his face remained impassive, there was no small sign, not even a twitch to relay his thoughts. But she knew immediately what Death was suggesting.

And it made her cold.

Or perhaps it was simply the fact that she was standing outside in nothing but her nightclothes. And as another harsh breeze danced by, she decided it was most certainly her state of undress which had made her cold. The presence of Death simply served to worsen it.

She was shielded from the wind when something warm weighed down on her shoulders, and a familiar voice chided, “You look like the dead.”

And perhaps the voice was correct because as she glanced down at her hands, the typically pale flesh was already turning a most unappealing blue.

And then she was being dragged inside the shop. She would have much preferred to sink further into the darkness of her thoughts, but the continued screeching of her companion made it terribly hard.

“-waiting to die out there. Of all the stupid things to do!” Ada hissed, as she angrily poured a cup of steaming hot tea, not caring as the scorching liquid splashed around against the plate, and the countertop.

After a moment, when her surroundings had finally become somewhat quiet, Harry said, “You’re quite unpleasant.”

But the words were laced with a hint of affection. And she couldn’t quite remember when she last held an ounce of fondness for those around her. It had certainly not been since her time at Hogwarts. She definitely couldn’t remember when she’d begin to become fond of a Shelby. Had she truly been so deprived of human contact?

“You’re prickly yourself.” Ada responded, eyeing her current state for a moment before she said, “Freddie’s told me that Tommy walked you back last night. Is this his fault?”

Her words caused a frown to tug at her lips. Fingers dancing around the rim of the cup before her, she said, “Bold of you to assume your brother holds any manner of power over me.”

“You wouldn’t be the first woman to fall for him.” Ada hummed, but there was a lightness to her words. She did not believe Harry to be anything like the women who chased after her brothers.

A silence settled between them after her statement, but Harry couldn’t say that it was uncomfortable. There was an easiness between them right now, but Harry could still feel the presence of Death looming around.

Clearing her throat, Ada said, “I am here for a reason. Before I tell you though, I have something for you.”

And with that, Ada reached her hand down into her purse and pulled out a small bottle. Placing it on the table in between them, she smiled sweetly. And Harry couldn’t stop the small smile that pulled at her lips as she eyed the familiar bottle of rum sitting on the table.

“What’s this?” She asked, still not reaching for it.

Smirking, Ada shrugged, “A bribe, of course.”

With an arched brow, Harry reached out to grasp the bottle. Twirling it in her hands for a moment, she grabbed an empty teacup from the table and poured the bronze liquid into the cup. 

Placing the bottle back onto the table, she took a sip from her cup and asked, “What are you here for?”

The liquid burned her throat on the way down, distracting her from her situation. And for a moment, she decided she could step away from her own misery and into the world of the living once more.

“I am not speaking to my brothers,” Ada said, “Tommy’s been dealing with men bigger than him. He thinks he’s untouchable. Someone’s gotta keep an eye on them.”

 Frowning, Harry said, “I don’t care for Shelby men.”

Ada’s eyes lit up at the statement, and it took a moment for Harry to realize why. Somewhere along the line, her distaste for Shelbys had begun to exclude the women. And while Harry had not had my encounters with the matriarch, she did hold some respect for the woman.

“Good thing I’m not a Shelby,” Ada responded, tugging her gloves off of her hands. Holding out her hand towards her, showing off the ring that sat on her finger. 

“Thorne, is it?” Harry asked, only glancing at the ring. 

Lowering her hand, and letting it settle on the table, Ada nodded. 

“I should mention that I have an arrangement with Thomas Shelby,” Harry said after a moment, “Specifically, a favour.”

Ada frowned then, her eyes narrowing slightly as she shook her head, “Polly‘ll kill him if she finds out. He should know better than to make a deal with a Chov’hani.”

“A Chov’hani?” Harry asked, testing the unfamiliar word on her tongue. It certainly hadn’t rolled off her tongue as smoothly as it had Ada’s. 

“A Witch,” Ada said blandly, “You are one, aren’t you? Fortune telling and all.”

“Gypsy magic, I assume?” Harry asked, recalling her conversation with the youngest Shelby, before adding, “I am no Gypsy.”

I am no Gypsy, she had said. Not that she was no Witch, and those unsaid words hung in the air between the two women. And Harry was certain that Ada Shelby was far wiser than her siblings gave her credit for because as she brought the cup of tea to her lips, the sides of her lips curled up in a knowing smile.

 

-x-

 

Slim fingers ran through her hair, expertly unwinding the knots and smoothing the strands down. She sat stiffly in the chair as the brush ran down the length of her hair, and she could feel her hands getting clammy at his proximity.

“What do you know of Gypsy Magic?” She asked, eyeing the pale skin of the hand setting the brush on the tabletop in front of her.

Death had not strayed too far from her since their reunion, and Harry was certain he trusted her as little as she trusted him. He watched her through the eyes of strangers, from shadowed corners and in moments when they were alone, he would be certain to keep her at a level of unease. His lady should not look like filth, he’d said before he had taken to brushing her hair at night. Her distaste and complaints had fallen on deaf ears, however, because it had become a nightly ritual.

“I know everything,” He said simply, his hand curling around her wrist as he yanked it towards him. His proximity to his creation caused the elder wand to burn painfully against her flesh.

Narrowing her eyes, she hissed, “Enough of this!”

The command was clear, and she knew Death was none too pleased as he allowed her arm to drop with a blank expression on his face. Their relationship had always been strained, but he seemed to truly despise her as of late and she couldn’t fathom why. But she could take no more of his anger, for it only served to fuel hers.

“I am your Master.” She said, 

The thin, cracked lips of his host pulled into a small smile as he replied, “For now.”

 

-x-

 

He watched her stalk down the street, a fire in her eyes. Her dark hair danced wickedly in the wind behind her and he could see that cheeks were stained red from the cold. Slim fingers reached out to raise the collar of her coat. And she came to a halt beside the horse. The sickly one that looked moments away from death and Tommy wondered if she’d despise him more were he to suggest she put it out of its misery.

As the thought crossed his mind, the horse turned its head to meet his gaze, and for a moment he was brought back to the barracks. The eyes of the beast did not match his body, they were strong and unwavering. They bled power.

He watched as a smile pulled onto Harry’s lips, one he had never seen before. It wasn’t the condescending smirk or the false smiles she threw around, it was a happy smile. And it made her look young. 

From his spot, he couldn’t quite make out what she was doing but it looked as though she were talking to it, as she stroked its mane. The way emotions flittered over her face, he’d think she was actually conversing with the thing.

As she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, Tommy noticed that it was longer than he’d remembered. She would always have it tucked into her coat or tied up in a haphazard bun that looked moments away from coming undone, regardless it always looked like a mess. But it was smoothed down today, hanging down to the small of her back, an unfashionably long length, uncommon of the time they lived in. 

He didn’t realize he’d been walking towards her until he’d come to stand right behind her, and she turned her head to look at him. The carefree expression on her face was quick to vanish, instead replaced by the blank mask she hid behind.

“Thomas Shelby,” She said, “I’m not in the mood for your unpleasantness today.”

“You assume I came over to see you,” He responded, his gaze sliding over to the horse as he said, “I came to meet him.”

At his words, she frowned, “What makes you think he wants to meet you?”

He didn’t miss the possessive way her fingers curled into his mane or the way she leaned her head against the horses, like a child unwilling to share a companion. The horse, for its part, seemed to enjoy her company, butting its head against hers.

He held his hand out towards it, and asked, “What’s his name?”

“Hades,” She responded simply, as she watched him run his hand down the stallion’s neck. He was surprised by the amount of muscle he could feel under his hand, it certainly didn’t match his outward appearance. It seemed that Harry noticed his surprise as she said, “He may look frail, but nothing can take him.”

“You ride?” He asked, 

It seemed that she found his question terribly assuming as a slow grin slid onto her face as she said, “Despite his pleasant demeanor, Hades only lets one person ride him. He’d swallow you whole if you tried.”

“One person?” He prodded, noting the way her face hardened as she glanced behind her at the empty street.

“An associate of mine,” She said, “One you’d do well to avoid.”

Her tone made it evident that she did not wish to speak of her associate. In fact, he was certain that if he tried to push her for the information she’d leave in a fit of rage. And so he did not ask the questions he was burning to ask, and instead, his hand slipped into his pocket and he gripped the letter he’d shoved in there earlier.

“It seems I have to ask my favour earlier than anticipated,” He said, holding out the invitation towards her as he continued, “It seemed that you made quite an impression.”

Her eyes flitted over the invitation quickly, before she frowned, “You want me to go to the races?”

“Billy Kimber wants you to go to the races,” He corrected, before adding, “I will be there as well. You would simply have to come, be posh, and distract a few people if need be.”

He didn’t mention that he would be bringing Grace and certainly didn’t mention that if Grace didn’t distract Kimber well enough, he would give Kimber the time he seemed to want with Harry.

“I will pay for a dress,” He offered, glancing down at the oversized attire that he had grown accustomed to seeing the woman wear, “So you look the part.”

He reached into his pocket, prepared to hand over three pounds to the woman, only to be stopped by a cold hand gripping his wrist. There was a familiar fire in her eyes, and he’d swear it seemed like she knew his intentions.

“You wouldn’t be able to afford me,” She said quietly, her fingers digging into his wrist as she added, “Keep the money, I hear self-respect is expensive these days.”

 

-x-

 

Smoothing down the sequined fabric of the dress, she glanced around at all the well-dressed people and wondered how they seemed unaware of all the children starving on the streets as they danced around in expensive clothes and drank expensive alcohol as though they were untouchable. As though they would live forever.

From her place by the bar, she could keep an eye on Kimber, who she had avoided thus far. She pitied the woman sitting next to him, in that nice black flapper dress, with a scowl on her face as she watched her husband ignore her entirely. 

Glancing at the back, she saw familiar faces and so with a quick sigh, she wove her way through the crowd of people before reaching the doorman. Fingers curling around his shoulder, she grinned pleasantly, casting a silent confundus charm. She watched the way his eyes glazed over, before declaring, “They’re with me.”

“O...of course. Yes.” He mumbled sliding over to let the two in.

As she led the two of them towards the bar, she glanced back towards Grace, ignoring the frown being directed towards her and said, “Nice dress.”

The quip wasn’t missed by Thomas if the way his eyes snapped away from Kimber and towards her. However, instead of upsetting the man as she’d hoped, Thomas only smirked slightly.

His eyes slipped from her face and down over the emerald green fabric of her dress. The intricate beadwork and detail on the dress certainly proved that it was of fine make. Certainly worth more than the three pounds he had been prepared to give her, and both of them knew her decision to wear it was calculated.

“Now,” She said, leaning over the side of the bar, she said, “Let’s see the Devil of Small Heath in action.”

He looked away from her then, glancing at Grace as he asked, “Do you dance?”

A small smirk pulled at cherry red lips and Harry realized that even if she didn’t realize it herself, Grace was beginning to be charmed by Thomas Shelby, as she responded, “If I’m asked properly.”

She wanted to point out that Thomas Shelby was the farthest thing from proper. He simply played a part, and while she’d never cared much for Grace, she certainly didn’t think anyone deserved to be toyed with.

Thomas for his part only smiled slightly, and held out his hand towards her, “Lady Sarah of Connemara, will you dance with me?”

And suddenly she did not exist at the same moment as everyone else. Instead of the busy and loud dance floor, she stood in the ruins of Hogwarts, bloodied and bruised and victorious. She clutched elder wand in hand and stood alone, facing the young boy in bloodstained red and gold. His eyes too old, his body too rigid and his voice too alien as he held out a small hand towards her and asked, “Harry Potter, will you stay with me?”

And as quickly as she’d been consumed by the memory, she’d returned just as quickly to the world of the living. They danced around her, aged around her, lived around her. And she stood in solitude, watching from a distance.

 

-x-

 

He grinned slightly when he noticed Kimber’s gaze on his charming companion. For her part, Grace seemed unaware of what was to come, and he almost felt bad for using her. Almost being the word because he didn’t trust her in the slightest.

Not that he trusted many people outside his family. 

Glancing back towards the bar at the woman leaning against it looking entirely bored, he supposed he trusted Harry. He trusted Harry to be challenging. Trusted her to think herself untouchable. Trusted her as much as a Gypsy could trust a Chov’hani.

She truly looked like a high bred woman, pale-skinned and aloof. But he didn’t suppose it looked normal, she looked uncomfortable. He supposed she looked better with wild hair and oversized jackets. She looked better when she was angry, and when she looked truly wicked.

“You know most women would be offended to find their dance partners staring at other women.” Grace said, reclaiming his attention, “Though I suppose it might have something to do with her not liking me.”

“Harry doesn’t like anybody.” He responded simply, twirling Grace. 

“She likes your sister,” She shrugged slightly, eyes darting to the side as she said, “I’ve seen them together more than once.”

He knew what she was doing. She was trying to pry information from him, throwing out bait hoping he’d bite onto something. I’ve seen them together more than once, she said. What she didn’t say was, I’ve seen you together more than once.

It was fair, he supposed for people to be curious about his own relationship with the woman. For all the threats and violence the Peaky Blinders were known for, no one raised a hand towards Harry. Because they knew something was strange about her and that little shop of hers. Polly didn’t want to risk angering her in case she truly was one of the magic folk in fear of what her anger would bring. He reckoned Polly would have his head if she were to know the games he was playing with a Chov’hani.

But he had begun to get drunk off the moments of her unnatural power. He craved her anger because something truly peculiar frequently accompanied it. And he wanted to possess it, possess her.

“Do you see many things?” He asked, his tone turning colder.

Do you see many things? Do you lie about them? Do you lie to me? He questioned silently, his hand falling to the small of her back, pulling her closer to his chest. And with a quick glance down at the pocket watch, he spun her around and began leading her back.

“Are we leaving?”

Not caring to listen to her lie to him any more than she already had, he pulled her closer and said, “No. I’ve decided to become a legitimate businessman.”

“You’re serious.” She whispered, eyes darting around the room as he let Arthur in through the side door. His brother’s face was bloodstained, gasping for breath as he dropped the bags at his feet. 

“I’m always serious.”

 

-x-

 

Her eyes narrowed as she watched Arthur Shelby’s quick retreat and the way Thomas pushed through the crowd with a determined look on his face. Grace for her part had seemed to lose her previously happy disposition and instead followed with a small scowl on her face.

As Thomas pushed his way towards Kimber, Grace was quick to slip away. With a single glance around the room, the woman made her way towards Harry, already beginning to light a cigarette as she came to stand next to her. 

Harry glanced over the woman and towards the men, and said, “When you frown like that, you fit in with the rest of the women here. All of them disappointed by their money-hungry, high-class men. Or…Do you suppose Gangsters have class?”

Grace didn’t seem to appreciate her joke if the side-eye she received served as any indication. Before she could voice her opinion, Billy Kimber was walking in their direction. He eyed the women as though they were cuts of meat, and Harry had to admit she was growing tired of the men of this time.

One look over his shoulder made it clear that Shelby had not realized that his companion had come to stand beside Harry, effectively drawing Kimber’s attention towards the dark-haired woman. The coldness of his gaze revealed his distaste towards the way his plans were unraveling.

As Kimber came to stand beside them, he said, “Your man said it was all right for me to have this dance.”

Glancing down at his outstretched hand, Harry said, “Funny that, considering I have no man.”

Nevertheless, her hand fell into his. She didn’t suppose Grace would have been pleased to dance with the man, and it seemed that Thomas Shelby had upset her enough for today. Harry would spare her from the misogyny of Kimber.

The dance was awkward, perhaps it was simply because she was too rigid because her partner’s eyes never strayed far from her cleavage. Or perhaps it was the many eyes watching them as they moved which reminded Harry of her less than pleasant time the last time she’d danced at the Yule Ball. And so, she dug her fingers into the man’s shoulder, and when his eyes met hers, the music came to a screeching halt.

Untangling herself from his grip, she offered him a tight smile before returning to the bar and to a disgruntled Grace. Ignoring the eyes on her back as she gripped Grace’s arm and said, “I think we should leave.”

“We?” Grace asked, glancing back towards the table where Thomas sat with Kimber. She didn’t miss the way Kimber's eyes darted back to them as she said, “I came with Mr.Shelby.”

“Mr.Shelby is going to tell you to go fuck Kimber.” She responded bluntly, 

 “No-” Her protests were cut off by Thomas sliding between them. Placing his hand on Grace’s arm he said, “So, listen, we’re going to dinner at Kimber’s house. He has a place a couple miles away. I have some business to settle first with his accountant, so, you go on ahead to with Kimber.”

He had to see the disbelief and anger in her eyes, Harry could certainly see it from where she stood. But it didn’t seem to deter Thomas Shelby, who added, “I’ll throw in an extra three quid for your time.”

She could practically feel the woman’s rage, it was suffocating. She wondered at that moment if it was a woman who ended Thomas Shelby’s life. She certainly wouldn’t have been surprised.

“You think I’m a whore?” Grace demanded, 

“Everyone’s a whore, Grace.” Thomas shook his head, “We just sell different parts of ourselves.”

Harry scoffed then, fingers reaching up to curl around his shoulder. The magic in the air grew heavy at that moment, enough to make the muggles in the room uneasy, even if they didn’t know why. And with her hand still on his shoulder, she suggested, “Then you fuck him.”

Harry did not like Grace. She didn’t like how she behaved and didn’t like how she lied so easily. But that certainly didn’t mean that she’d let men like Thomas Shelby and Billy Kimber have their way with her and so she held out her free hand towards her and said, “Last chance.”

“You said you wanted to work for me,” Thomas said, glaring down at the hand she’d held out towards the blonde as he added, “To do that you have to sharpen up. The deal is that I give him two hours with you. He thinks he’s a ladies man. Thinks he can seduce yo-”

“Thinks he can have his way with you and your consent means nothing,” Harry corrected.

Thomas was undeterred as he said, “Whenever you want, just kick him in the balls.”

She could see it in the blonde's eyes, she could see the sway Thomas Shelby held over her and Harry was disgusted. Disgusted that the man knew the power he held and chose to abuse it. But she couldn’t let the woman leave with Billy Kimber. She had seen into his mind, seen the type of monster he was and she wouldn’t let him have her. And so, she said, “He will hurt you.”

As Thomas began walking towards Kimber to close the deal, Harry scowled. Hand shooting out to curl around the blonde woman’s chin she pulled her head up to meet her gaze. Magic cloaked the air around them as she leaned in as said, “You’re going to be sick.”

Grace’s eyebrows drew together in confusion before she turned pale. Hands flying to her stomach, the blonde looked around with a queasy expression on her face before whispering, “I’m gonna be sick.”

Or Harry supposed that was what she was trying to say because, in the next moment, Grace had doubled over and emptied the contents of her stomach behind the bar.

Turning on her heel while the blonde continued to dry heave, she made her way towards the two men she’d grown to despise even more than she initially had. As she came to stand before the men, she turned her head to Thomas with a smirk and said, “Your girl needs to be taken home. I believe she’s had too much to drink.”

Kimber for his part watched Grace throw up in disgust. All thoughts of bedding the woman had gone for the moment. Thomas Shelby, however, looked unbearably angry as he said, “You should have gone home, you stupid woman.”

 

-x-

 

 The tension in the room was tangible as the raven-haired woman glared harshly at the man whose grimy fingers gripped her pale wrist tightly. She could feel the heat of each foul breath he took on her face.

“Let me go,” She said in a voice that was deceptively calm even as his other hand dragged arrogantly across the flesh of her thigh.

“Shelby promised me an hour with his whore and I will get my hour,” Kimber said, his grip on her wrist now dangerously close to snapping it.

Unbothered by his statement, she wondered how this lad thought he could even last an hour. He could barely restrain her now, the meekness of his wife had turned this man to a delusion she was more than willing to correct. This scum was the worst muggle she had met so far, surpassing even the Shelby man. His lustful nature had made him blind to the magic drenching the room, his focus only on his dirty hands that groped sloppily at her body. And perhaps it was his inexcusable heaving breaths or possibly the disgusting words that fell from his lips, but whatever it was, caused her to finally snap.

And she could barely contain the euphoric gasp as her magic exploded and the man crumpled under an unseen force.

“I must clarify that I am not a whore, and also, perhaps, more importantly, I do not associate with Shelby scum.” She drawled, rubbing her wrist carefully, fairly certain that the harsh red would soon fade to an ugly purple bruise.

She seemed to be getting bruised far too frequently these past few days, she decided that she quite preferred her time in solitude to this.

It was only the pained groan that slipped past the lips of a Billy Kimber whose body was tangled in a particularly painful manner which snapped her attention back to him. The horror in his wide eyes should have disgusted her, made her remorseful even, but it didn’t. This man deserved death, even worse than death. He was foul, a disgusting pig. And he deserved to die. But she couldn’t kill him, no that was still something she would not stoop low enough to do.

Stalking forward, away from the billiards table, she reached out and gripped the man’s face. Her magic whipped angrily around the room as she dug her nails into his skin and said, “You, Billy Kimber, need to learn some respect.”

Each word punctured the heavy magic in the room, lessening the strain on the man. Instead of rising, however, he slipped to the floor. He eyed her with fear, and then with some twisted sort of reverence. Yanking her hand away from him in disgust, she wondered what hell she was living in.

Whipping her arm into the air, she watched as Kimber was flung into the air, colliding with the ceiling so forcefully that it cracked under him. And then the magic vanished and he was falling, the guttural scream he let out did well to mask the sound of the door opening.

Before he could hit the ground however, his body froze and over the sound of his screams he heard her voice, “Consider this a warning.”

And then he fell, the slamming of his head against the floor made her wonder if he would even remember this encounter. Otherwise, it would have been quite useless for her to incorporate such theatrics. Shrugging to herself, she kneeled next to the unconscious man and gripped his hair. Angling his head up, she said, “I hope it was as good for you as it was for me.”

And with that she let his head fall once more as she rose to smooth down the fabric of her garment. It was only then that she realized they were no longer alone. A glance at the door revealed a woman hunched by the wall, looking as though she wished she would fall right through it as her eyes met those of the Witch. But it wasn’t the woman who was the issue, or at least not the biggest issue. Instead, it was the blasted Shelby who was leaning against the closed door with a fire in his eyes. He met her gaze with a boldness that his companion lacked, and his tongue trailed over his lower lip before he said, “I can’t speak for Kimber, but it was certainly very good for me as well.”

The scowl that darkened her face every time she encountered the man returned. And without a second thought, she could feel the familiar sensation of her wand slipping down her wrist and into her grasp.

“Obliviate.” She hissed, watching with thinly veiled amusement as the Shelby dodged her spell, ever a true soldier. Her spell, however, wasn’t directed at him but instead his dark-haired companion. Kimber’s wife, She assumed, stood still like a meek lamb as the spell made contact. The shock of the moment, however, forced her to throw her head backward. Her head collided with the wall, and much like her husband, she collapsed.

And with that, Harry twirled her wand gracefully in between her fingers as she asked, “Tell me, Mr.Shelby, is that your gun or are you just happy to see me?”

“Both at once, Sweetheart.” He said, gripping the revolver with the confidence of a killer. Harry wondered how many times he’d had to kill to gain such confidence. He seemed so unbothered, as though he frequently found himself in such precarious situations.

“Let’s not have a measuring contest, I assure you mine’s bigger.” Harry hummed, angling her head to the side and adding, “Put down your gun. We both know you won-“

Her statement, however, was silenced by the sound of the shot being fired. The speed of the bullet had little on a spell, but it was the shock that dulled her reaction time. Blue eyes watched intently as her own widened in surprise before she apparated away, feeling the hot metal graze her forehead a moment before she vanished.

The bullet collided with the window, shattering the glass. The noise of the action was loud enough to blanket the popping sound that indicated that she had apparated somewhere else in the room.

From the shadows, she watched as the man slid towards the window with uncertainty. Her anger at being shot at was dulled only by her amusement as she noted the iron grip he had on his revolver, ready to shoot at the drop of a pin. She considered obliviating him as he stared out the window but opted to enjoy the thought of him believing himself to be mad. He certainly deserved it for their last encounter.

Slinking into the shadows, Harry apparated outside of the house, running her free hand through her disheveled hair. Her eyes settled on a familiar car and she couldn’t help the sinister smile that pulled at her lips. Whenever the devilish Mr.Shelby did leave the premises, he would find himself stranded. After all, it wasn’t stealing. It was payment for the oaf who had previously been groping her.

She supposed all the talk was correct, there were two Devils in Small Heath. Two of them, and they were going to rip each other apart.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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